



■H . ^ 


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COPYRIGHT DEPOSTL 


I 











THE STRANGE YEAR 







“I’VE GOT TWELVE CLOCKS IN MY HOUSE, AND THEY’VE ALL 
GOT TO BE FIXED” (pa^e 60) 







0 



COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY ELIZA ORNE WHITE 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



OCT ^9 1920 

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TO 

MY YOUNG COUSIN 

AGNES 

THIS BOOK IS 

AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 



Contents 


I. The Little Girl in the Brick House . . 1 

II. The Feast 12 

III. Ellen 21 

IV. The Coal Famine 30 

V. Lottie 38 

VT. The Long Week 47 

VII. The Clocks that Misbehaved ... 59 

VTII. The French Orphan 71 

IX. Cousin Sue 78 

X. The Red, White, and Blue Club ... 88 

XI. Doing One’s Bit 101 

XII. The Farm . .Ill 

XIII. Celebrating Peace 125 

XIV. The Blue Aunt comes Home . . . 135 








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. JPM 







THE STRANGE YEAR 


I 

The Little Girl in the Brick House 

T HERE’S a little girl living in the brick house 
with the Miss Lanes,” said Evelyn West to 
Nancy Merrifield, “and she’s lame. I’ve seen her 
sitting at the window, with her crutches near the 
chair.” 

“Yes, I know, she’s their niece. Her father’s going 
to France to fight,” Nancy explained. “He’s their 
brother; and her mother wanted to be with him near 
some camp until he sailed, so she brought her little 
girl here. She’s the only child she’s got, and her name 
is Sophia.” 

“I should think she might have found a prettier 
name for her than that,” said Evelyn. 

“She’s named for her grandmother,” said Nancy. 
“Mother’s going to let me go and play with her some 
day.” 

It was a cold December afternoon, and the two 
httle girls were playing with their dolls in the nursery 
at Evelyn’s house. There was a bright fire on the 
hearth, and the children looked very cozy indeed. 

“I should think Sophia would want to cry, her 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


aunts all look so sad in their black frocks,” said 
Evelyn. “I call them the crow ladies.” 

“The crow ladies!” 

“Yes; I call them the croW ladies because they 
wear such long skirts and such flipperty, flapperty 
veils. They look just like the three sisters in the pic- 
ture book your grandmother had when she was a little 
girl — the ones who turned into crows and flew away.” 

“They are in mourning for their mother,” said 
Nancy reprovingly. 

“Darling Aunt Hilda was in mourning for her 
father,” said Evelyn, “but her black things were all 
so pretty.” 

The two little girls sighed. They missed Evelyn’s 
Aunt Hilda, “The Blue Aunt,” as they called her. 
It was not quite two weeks since she had gone away, 
the morning after Thanksgiving, to sail for France, 
where she was to help take care of French orphans. 
Evelyn had got out of bed and run to the window to 
watch her go down the path, with Evelyn’s father on 
one side and her brother Jim on the other. It would 
be a long time before they could get a letter from her, 
and the silence made it seem as if the great sea had 
swallowed her up. 

^ There was the sound of the banging of the front 
door and of voices all talking at once. “Lottie and 
Prue must have come back,” said Evelyn, slipping 
out of her chair and hastily throwing her doll down 
on the table. “Let’s go down and see them.” 


THE LITTLE GIRL IN THE BRICK HOUSE 3 


Evelyn’s cousins, Lottie and her younger sister 
Prue, had been staying for a visit ever since Thanks- 
giving, but they were to go home to the farm in a 
few days. Lottie was a big girl who seemed almost 
like a young lady to Evelyn and Nancy, for she was 
thirteen years old and very dignified. Dr. Wainwright 
had taken the two girls on a sleigh-ride with his wife 
and his daughter Emily, who was about Lottie’s age. 
So when Evelyn and Nancy got downstairs, they 
found a roomful of people looking very cold, with 
red cheeks and bright eyes. Mrs. Wainwright was 
talking to Mrs. West. 

“I want to find some one to go every afternoon to 
help amuse poor httle Sophia Lane,” she said. “Can 
you think of any High-School girl who would be 
willing to read to her and play with her? They would 
pay well if they got the right girl.” 

Lottie, who was standing over the register stamp- 
ing her feet to get them warm, suddenly had a bright 
idea. “If I could only stay here all winter and amuse 
Sophia Lane, I could go to High School with Emily, 
and it would be just too splendid for anything.” 

Lottie was fond of reading and she liked school. 
She knew she should have to earn her living when 
she grew up, and she meant to be a teacher. She 
did not hke the life on the farm, especially in winter. 
She was not fond of animals, as Prue was, and she 
detested housework, and there was always a great 
deal of it to be done in the farmhouse. 


4 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


“Oh, Mrs. Wainwright, do you suppose I could do 
it?” she asked. 

Lottie was not a very easy visitor to have, and 
Mrs. West felt some dismay at the idea of having 
her spend the rest of the year with them. 

“I could hve with the Lanes and go to school, if it 
was n’t convenient for you to have me here. Cousin 
Sadie,” said Lottie. 

“Your Cousin James would never consent to that,” 
said hospitable Mrs. West. “We’ll have to think it 
over. It might be a very good plan. I’ll write to your 
grandmother about it.” 

Although Lottie was often a trial to older people 
because she was hard to please and not always con- 
siderate, Mrs. West knew that she was very kind to 
younger children. She could read aloud to Sophia and 
invent games for the little lame girl. 

It was decided that Lottie should take the children 
the next afternoon, to play with Sophia. This would 
give her and Sophia a chance to see how they Hked 
each other. 

Evelyn decided to take her oldest doll, Sarah, to 
call on Sophia. She was a rag doll and not very beauti- 
ful, but there were reasons why she was the best one 
to take. Evelyn’s mother suggested that it was slip- 
pery walking, and the consequences of a fall might 
be more serious to the beautiful flaxen-haired Matilda, 
or the brown-haired Virginia. Mrs. West sent a bowl 
of orange jelly to Sophia. This Lottie carried. 


THE LITTLE GIRL IN THE BRICK HOUSE 5 


Prue looked with envy at Evelyn’s red coat, with 
the black fur collar, and at Lottie’s new dark-blue 
suit. She herself was wearing a black coat, made out 
of one that had belonged to her grandmother, and 
trimmed with red to brighten it up. 

“I just hate to always wear other people’s clothes, 
cut down for me,” said Prue. 

“You always look so nice in everything, darling 
Prue,” said Evelyn. 

As they were passing the Merrifields’ house, who 
should come down the steps but Nancy and her 
father. Evelyn was very fond of Nancy’s father, he 
had such kind gray eyes that matched his hair; and 
he knew how to talk to httle girls. So Evelyn ran 
and put out a small red-mittened hand into his big 
one with a fur glove on. 

“You look like a flock of birds, children,” he said. 
“Lottie is a bluebird and Evelyn is a redbird and 
Nancy is a little brown wren.” 

“And what am I?” asked Prue. 

He looked at her bright cheeks and her dark hair, 
and at her quaint old-fashioned coat; “You are the 
best bird of all; you are a red- winged blackbird.” 

Prue felt so glad and proud when she heard this 
that she skipped along gayly over the icy sidewalk. 
Evelyn let go of Mr. Merrifield’s hand and ran after 
her. 

“Look out, or you’ll tumble down,” said cautious 
Nancy. 


6 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


Evelyn only ran the faster. Presently she slipped 
and fell face downward on the ice while Sarah seemed 
to give a flying leap out of her arms and landed in 
the street. Evelyn picked herself up and rescued 
Sarah. How glad she was she had left Matilda and 
Virginia at home. 

Presently Mr. Merrifield and Nancy turned down 
a side street. There was somebody else taking the 
walk with Evelyn and her cousins, and this was 
Hector, the friendly brown dog. When they came to 
the brick house, sure enough, there was Sophia at 
the second-story window at the right, with her 
crutches by the rocking-chair. Evelyn had never seen 
a httle girl with such black hair, and it looked all 
the blacker because her face was so pale. 

The three children waved to Sophia. She looked 
quite alarmed at seeing so many of them. Before 
Lottie could ring the doorbell a large Maltese cat, 
who looked as if she owned the place, came along in 
a disagreeable way and made remarks which nobody 
but Hector could understand. She hunched up her 
back and every hair seemed to bristle and she ran 
towards Hector, and Lottie called, “Hector! Hec- 
tor!” and the tallest of the three sisters. Miss Ger- 
trude Lane, came out of the door, in her black gown, 
but without her hat and veil, and she called, “Di- 
ana! Diana! Come right in. How rude you are!” . 

And all the time the little girl in the brick house 
was looking out of the window, and presently she 


THE LITTLE GIRL IN THE BRICK HOUSE 7 


opened it and called, “Diana! Diana!” in a shrill, 
childish voice. The next minute the middle-sized 
sister. Miss Emily, shut the window down firmly. 

The cat disappeared into the house. Hector ceased 
growling, and the tall, thin sister said, “Good- 
afternoon, children; I am sorry my cat has been so 
impolite.” 

“We’ve come to see Sophia,” Lottie explained. 
“My cousin, Mrs. James West, has sent her some 
orange jelly.” 

Miss Gertrude looked at the children in an uncer- 
tain way, shading her eyes with her hand as if she 
found it hard to see in the bright sunshine on the 
snow. She seemed a good deal more afraid of the 
children than they were of her. Just then the green 
front door opened again, and Miss Emily appeared 
in the doorway. “Come right in, Gertrude, you’ll 
take your death of cold,” she said. 

“I think you’d better go up to see Sophia, one at 
a time,” said Miss Emily. “As you are the oldest,” 
she said to Lottie, “you can go up first.” 

Evelyn and Prue could see Lottie sitting by the 
window with Sophia. How yellow her hair looked in 
contrast with the little girl’s black hair! They longed 
to know what she was saying. But they soon forgot 
all about Lottie and Sophia, for they got so interested 
in some long icicles that were hanging down at one 
side of the porch. Evelyn pretended that it was candy, 
and Prue reached up and broke off a piece for the doll 


8 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


Sarah. Then they went around the side of the house 
and found some ice to slide on; and when Lottie came 
out at last, they were so interested in playing that 
they were skating, that Prue did not want to take 
her turn in going up to see Sophia. 

“Miss Emily says she’d better see only one more 
child this afternoon,” said Lottie. 

So Evelyn, with Sarah in her arms, went up the 
front steps and in at the front door, which was opened 
for her by Miss Emily. It seemed very dark in the 
hall after the bhnding sunlight on the snow. Evelyn 
followed Miss Emily up the broad staircase, w:ith the 
twisted white banisters and the mahogany raihng. 
In the dim light Miss Emily, in her black gown, 
looked more hke a crow than ever. In the rocking- 
chair by the window, in the front room, Sophia was 
sitting. In her lap was a long row of girls clasping 
hands, cut out of white paper, and another row of 
boys, that Lottie had just made for her. 

Evelyn ran up to Sophia and held out a friendly 
hand. “I’m Evelyn West, and this is my favorite 
child, Sarah. I brought her to call on you,” and she 
held up the rag doll. 

Sophia fixed her large dark eyes on Sarah and said 
nothing. Evelyn felt that Sarah was not approved of. 

“I’ve prettier ones at home,” said Evelyn, “but I 
couldn’t bring them out because it’s so slippery.” 
Still Sophia said nothing. 

“You’d better take off your coat, it’s so warm in 


THE LITTLE GIRL IN THE BRICK HOUSE 9 


this room,” said Miss Emily; and she took off Evelyn’s 
coat and red cap. 

Sophia looked hard and long at Evelyn’s yellow hair. 
“Are you her sister?” Sophia asked, in her sad little 
voice. 

“Whose sister? Lottie’s sister? Lottie’s my cousin. 
I’ve only got a brother, Jim. He’s bigger than I am. 
He’s gone skating with David Wainwright this after- 
noon.” Evelyn was talking on, nervously. She felt 
somebody ought to talk, but Sophia’s dark eyes were 
very disconcerting. “Why did you think Lottie was 
my sister?” she asked. 

“Because you both have such yellow hair.” 

“Lottie’s got a sister, Prue. Her hair ’s ’most as 
dark as yours. She thought she’d rather play out- 
doors than to come up to see you, so I came up. 
Have n’t you any dolls?” Evelyn asked. 

“Mother forgot to pack mine up,” said Sophia. 
“She’s going to bring them later, when she comes.” 

“How dreadful!” said Evelyn sympathetically. 
“My mother forgets things, too, but never anything 
so important as that. Have n’t your aunts any dolls 
that they had when they were little girls?” 

“Yes,” she said, “there are six of them, but they 
are all too old and frail to be any good to play 
with.” 

Evelyn’s warm heart was suddenly flooded with 
pity for this unfortunate little girl. 

“Oh, you poor thing!” she said. “I’ll let Sarah 


10 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


make you a visit. You can bang her about all you like. 
I play she’s very beautiful. You see, being a rag doll, 
you can play she’s anything you like.” 

This idea seemed to please Sophia. She took Sa- 
rah and held her in her arms as if she were a baby. 

“Anyway, you have a cat to play with,” said 
Evelyn. “I’ve got a cat, too. His name is Tim. He 
began by being a kitten, just the teentiest size; and 
our furnace-man — his name was Tim, too — found 
him outside Nancy Merrifield’s kitchen door, with a 
broken paw. Tim was their furnace-man, too, so she 
named the kitten for him; and her mother would n’t 
let her keep him, because they had a cat already. So 
she gave him to me; and he was just too cunning for 
anything. Oh, dear, how I wish kittens would n’t 
grow into cats so fast! He’s a tiger-cat, and when he 
sits in my lap he seems ’most as big as a real tiger. 
Does Diana sit in your lap.^” 

The httle girl shook her head. “Diana is a very 
cross cat,” she said. “Her whole name is ‘Diana of 
the Crossways,’ but we call her ‘Diana’ for short.” 

Evelyn had been sorry to leave the make-believe 
skating outside to come in, but she was now so inter- 
ested in Sophia that she did not want to go home; and 
when, a quarter of an hour later. Miss Emily came 
in to say that Lottie and Prue were waiting for her, 
she said, “Oh, dear! I’m not ready to go!” 

And Sophia said, “Oh, please. Aunt Emily, let 
her stay a little longer.” 


THE LITTLE GIRL IN THE BRICK HOUSE 11 


“Not to-day,” said Miss Emily. “Perhaps she’ll 
come some other afternoon.” 

Sophia sat at the window watching Lottie and the 
two younger children as they went out of the gate 
and along the slippery sidewalk. The three children 
waved to Sophia and she waved back to them. Miss 
Emily came over and picked up the rag doll, who was 
sitting primly in a chair. 

“Why, the httle girl has left her doll,” she said. 
“I’ll see if I can’t call her back,” and she ran to open 
the window. 

“Oh, please. Aunt Emily!” said Sophia. “She left 
her on purpose for me to play with.” 

“She left her for you to play with.^^” She looked at 
the battered features of the rag doll, and evidently 
she had her own opinion about her. 

But Sophia and Evelyn shared a secret. It was one 
that it was impossible to make any older person 
understand. It was that Sarah was not only good and 
interesting, but very beautiful. 


II 

The Feast 

J AMES,” said Evelyn’s mother, a few days later, 
as she looked across the breakfast table at her 
husband, “don’t forget that this is the day of the fair 
for Hilda’s French orphans. We are all going to lunch 
there.” 

“I’m sorry,” said Mr. West; “I forgot all about it 
and I have an engagement out of town.” 

“You don’t look very sorry,” said Jim. “Gee, but 
this com-cake is bum ! ” 

“I’ve told you not to say ‘bum,’” said his father. 
“But it is bum; you just try it and see.” 

One of the strangest things of this strange year of 
the war was the food they had. Evelyn liked it all, 
it was so interesting. Mr. West tasted a piece of corn- 
cake and made a wry face. 

“I am sorry you don’t like it,” said Mrs. West. 
“It is a rule Mrs. Merrifield gave me. She said her 
husband hked it, and it does n’t take any sugar or 
eggs.” 

“I’m glad John Merrifield likes it. I don’t. Look 
here, Sadie, what is this you’ve got instead of 
butter?” 

“It is nut butter. Mrs. Wainwright told me the 


THE FEAST 


13 


doctor said it was much better to use than a poor 
grade of butter.” 

“But who wants a poor grade of butter 

“Gee, but I’d like to go to France!” said Jim. 

“Why?” asked Evelyn, who was contentedly 
munching her corn-cake. 

“Because we’ve sent all the good food over there.” 

“We can help win the war by going without things 
so the soldiers can have them,” said his Cousin Prue, 
as she took a second piece of corn-cake. 

“I guess you like com-meal,” said Jim. 

“Sadie, you haven’t put sugar enough in my 
coffee,” said Mr. West irritably. 

“I put in one lump,” said Mrs. West, who had 
been going without any sugar in her own coffee for 
the last few days. “We are just about out of sugar, 
and I don’t know where I can get any.” 

“Is n’t there any bacon with the eggs?” asked Mr. 
West. “Saturday is n’t a meatless day.” 

“Oh, but we are only allowed meat once a day 
now,” said Mrs. West, “and I thought you would 
rather have it at night.” 

“I guess you got out of bed the wrong side this 
morning, father,” said Jim. 

“My dear boy,” said his mother, “you mustn’t 
speak like that to your father.” 

“It is what he said to me the other day.” 

“I know — but a little boy — ” 

She looked across the table, and to her relief she 


14 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


saw that her husband was smiling. When he smiled 
Evelyn thought there was no one in the whole world 
who looked so nice as her father. Her darling mother 
was always pretty and sweet, whether she smiled or 
whether she was sober; but when her father smiled 
his whole face seemed to light up. His eyes smiled 
quite as much as his mouth, and now they beamed 
through the big, dark-rimmed spectacles he always 
wore. 

“I guess you are right, Jim,” he said. And before 
he left he gave Mrs. West a ten-dollar bill to spend at 
the fair, as he could not be there himself, and he 
handed each of the children half a dollar. 

So it was a joyous procession that went to the fair, 
and Lottie found it hard to keep the younger ones in 
order; for Mrs. West was behind the fancy table, so 
she could not keep an eye on the children herself. 

The grab-bag was what Prue and Evelyn liked the 
best. It fascinated them, for it was so different from 
any grab-bag they had ever seen. The head of a goose 
was sticking through a screen; it opened a large yellow 
bill wide; one put one’s hand in and pulled out the 
grab; and a squawk came from somewhere as if there 
were another goose behind the screen. 

“You try first, Prue,” said Evelyn. So Prue put 
in her hand and pulled out a small, lumpy package. 
Then Evelyn put in hers, and she got a long, thin 
parcel. The two little girls ran over and sat down on 
a bench to open their grabs. 


THE FEAST 


15 


“Oh, dear!” said Prue in disgust, “I Ve got a china 
lamb that is just right for a baby child. I don’t want 
it.” 

Evelyn was quickly undoing her box. “Oh, dear! 
It’s a hat-pin,” she said. “It is for a grown-up lady. 
Let’s try again.” 

“I would n’t try again if I were you,” said Lottie. 
“There’s the collection of dolls you’ll want to see. 
That show is ten cents, and you know you meant to 
get Christmas presents. I’ll treat you to the dolls,” 
she said. Lottie was feeling very rich now she had 
begun to earn money by taking care of Sophia Lane 
in the afternoon. 

The dolls were most interesting. They were chiefly 
old dolls which had belonged to the grandmothers 
and great-grandmothers of the little girls of the 
present day; and their clothes were as quaint as 
their faces. 

When it was time for lunch, Mrs. Merrifield sat 
at one end of a table for ten, and Mrs. West at the 
other; and Jim, David, Nancy, and Prue sat on one 
side, and Mrs. Wainwright, Evelyn, Lottie, and 
Emily sat on the other. Everybody could choose 
whether she would have chicken salad or scalloped 
fish; and afterwards, she could have chocolate, va- 
nilla, or strawberry ice-cream. And there was cake 
— real cake — but without any frosting. 

Lottie chose strawberry ice-cream, and so did 
Nancy, Emily, and Evelyn; the two boys took choc- 


16 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


olate; and when it came Prue’s turn, she said: “A 
little of all three kinds, please.” 

“Prue!” said Lottie; can’t have but one 

kind.” 

Prue looked up at the pretty young lady who was 
waiting on them. “ Can’t I have all three? ” she asked, 
with her sweetest smile. “I’m going back to the 
farm to-morrow, and I shan’t have any ice-cream for 
ever so long; I’d just like three little tastes. Please, 
may n’t I have them all?” 

“I think I can arrange it for you,” said the pretty 
young lady. 

Evelyn was sitting next to Mrs. Wainwright. She 
was very fond of her — even more fond than she was 
of Nancy’s mother — for Mrs. Merrifield often had 
such a worried look, while Mrs. Wainwright seemed 
not to have a care in the world except to make people 
happy. It was strange, Evelyn thought, for Mrs. 
Merrifield had but the one child, and she seemed so 
afraid she would take cold or get sick; and Mrs. 
Wainwright had five children, and she did n’t seem 
to worry about them at all. Ted and Richmond had 
gone to the war, and Ben was at Exeter Academy; 
so there were only Emily and David at home. Mrs. 
Wainwright was not so young nor so pretty as Evelyn’s 
mother, but she had a fresh face with a bright color 
and dark hair, like her daughter Emily. She was tall, 
with a comfortable-looking figure. Her suit was dark 
green, and so was her hat, which was a little on one 


THE FEAST 


17 


side. Evelyn suddenly thought of her green hat-pin. 
As soon as lunch was over, she ran and got it. “ Would 
you like my grab, Mrs. Wainwright.^” she said. 

“It is the very thing I want most in the whole 
world,” and Mrs. Wainwright put it into her hat. 
“What a darling you were to give it to me. I got a 
grab that I could n’t use; suppose I give it to you?” 
So Mrs. Wainwright went down into the depths of 
her capacious black bag, and she finally fished out a 
pair of doll’s bronze shoes. 

“They are too small for me, or even for Emily, we 
have such large feet,” she said. “Do you think they 
would fit any of your family?” 

“Oh!” cried Evelyn joyously, “I’m sure they 
would just fit Virginia, and they are just right for her 
brown dress.” 

“I want to get some cake before I go home,” said 
Mrs. West. “It is Prue’s last night, and I think it 
will be nice to have a little feast.” 

But everybody was so cake hungry that year that 
when she went to the food table there was not one 
piece of cake left. There was a loaf of oatmeal bread 
and some bran muffins, but one could not make a 
feast out of these. “I’m so disappointed,” she said 
to Mrs. Wainwright. “We have n’t sugar enough to 
make cake.” 

“That’s too bad,” said Mrs. Wainwright. “Per- 
haps I • can help you out. I could n’t get any cake 
either, but I got the last gingerbread there was — a 


18 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


dozen individual ginger cakes; you are welcome to 
them/’ Again she opened her capacious bag. 

“How much were they? I should be glad of them, 
if you really don’t mind.” 

“They are a present. I am delighted to contribute 
that much towards the feast.” 

So Evelyn and her mother went home very happy, 
Evelyn with the doll’s shoes, and Mrs. West with 
the ginger cakes. But, alas, when Evelyn tried the 
bronze shoes on Virginia, they were too small; and 
although she pulled and tugged, she could not get 
them on. They were much too small for Sarah and 
altogether too large for Matilda, who had a small 
foot. She put them on her, however, although they 
were so very large that they made her look awkward. 

It was very sad to have it Prue’s last night, but no 
one could stop to think of that because of the feast. 
Bananas and oranges mixed were almost as good as 
having three kinds of ice-cream. And then there were 
the ginger cakes. Everybody took one, except Lottie, 
whose nose gave a suspicious little sniff. 

“No, thank you,” she said primly. 

“No gingerbread?” Evelyn asked in surprise. 

“It’s queer gingerbread,” said Jim, who had bitten 
a large piece out of his cake. “ Gee, but I’d like to go 
to France!” 

“It is n’t gingerbread,” Prue said in disappointed 
tones. “It’s a funny kind of brown bread.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Mrs. West, after tasting 


THE FEAST 


19 


her ginger cake. “It’s evidently one of the new 
recipes for bread and got put on the wrong table.” 

They all left their cakes unfinished, except Evelyn 
and Prue; and Mrs. West said the remnants would 
make a fine feast for the birds. She was sure if one 
thought of them as brown bread, the untouched cakes 
would be very good for breakfast the next morning, 
toasted and buttered. But, alas, in the morning a spot 
of bright green appeared in the center of each cake, 
which the heat seemed to have brought out. Evelyn 
was contentedly beginning on hers, but her mother 
said, “Really, I don’t know what this is made of; I 
don’t feel that it is very safe to eat it. Catherine can 
give them to the birds.” 

The birds’ party was such a very interesting affair 
that nobody felt sorry that the cakes could not be 
eaten inside. Catherine, the cook, always fed the birds 
every morning. She opened the kitchen window and 
she threw any scraps she had out on the white snow. 
She broke some of the cakes into large pieces and 
others into small pieces. 

“The large pieces are for the crows,” she said. 

The children eagerly waited at the window, and 
presently some sparrows came hopping along and 
took some of the small pieces. Then some pigeons 
came, and two beautiful blue jays, and, last of all, 
the crows, who drove the other birds away. There 
were three of them, and they reminded Evelyn so much 
of the three Miss Lanes that she began to laugh. 


20 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


‘‘What are you laughing at?” asked Jim. 

But Evelyn would not say. It was a joke which 
could only be shared by Nancy, and Nancy was not 
there. 


Ill 

Ellen 


E velyn felt so badly when Prue left that she 
cried. This happened so seldom that her mother 
was distressed. 

“Darling, you’ve got your father and me, and 
Jim and Lottie,” she said. “Just think of poor 
Nancy, who hasn’t any other child at her house, 
and of Sophia, whose father and mother have gone 
away.” 

At the mention of Sophia, the little girl’s sobs 
burst out afresh. “I wish I had n’t let her keep Sarah 
so long,” she said. “Sarah is always such a comfort.” 
For the rag doll was the first doll she had ever had 
and always helped her in times of trouble. 

“We’ll go and make a call on Sophia and her aunts 
this very afternoon,” said Mrs. West, “and we’ll 
bring Sarah home. And we’ll get Nancy to come to 
supper and cheer you up, and Emily Wainwright, 
so that Lottie won’t miss Prue so much. But, dearest, 
if we take Sarah away from Sophia, we ought to give 
her another doll. Suppose we go to the store now and 
buy one for her. You children can dress her, and we 
older ones will help you; and we’ll give her to Sophia 
for a Christmas present.” 


22 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


So the smiles quickly followed the tears, and 
Evelyn began to feel there was something to Hve for, 
after all. 

Evelyn skipped along the street, holding her moth- 
er’s hand tightly, for it was still very slippery. 
Neither she nor her mother had much money to spare, 
for they had sent Christmas boxes to soldiers in 
France, and they had sent Christmas presents by 
Aunt Hilda to the French orphans. The dolls were 
all very expensive that year. The young lady who 
waited on them said this was on account of the war. 
There were some with yellow hair and blue eyes that 
opened and shut, and one with brown hair. But these 
cost so much they were out of the question. 

“Oh, mother, here’s a doll with just a nice, cozy 
face,” said Evelyn. 

“There is a less expensive one over here,” said Mrs. 
West. 

“But she looks proud, mother. I don’t want Sophia 
to have a proud child. If you’ve got only one child, 
you can’t have her proud.” 

“I see,” said Mrs. West. “I hadn’t thought of 
that.” Mrs. West took up a smaller doll. “This one 
is n’t proud, Evelyn.” 

“She’s too sad, mother. You can’t have a sad 
child for your only one. This is the only doll that is 
just right for Sophia,” and Evelyn stopped in front 
of the one she had chosen, and refused to take any- 
thing else, 


ELLEN 


^3 


“But how am I going to pay for her?” said Mrs. 
West. “My December bill is too large already.” 

“We need n’t have a tree this year, mother. To give 
up a tree is n’t so bad as for Sophia to have the wrong 
child.” 

“All right,” said Mrs. West. “It is very impor- 
tant, I know. It does n’t seem so very long since I was 
a little girl and was choosing a doll for myself.” . 

“Mother, it doesn’t seem to me that Sophia’s 
aunts were ever little girls, ’cept Miss Molly; she 
might have been one, just a little speck of a while.” 

“They are all as dear and good as they can be,” 
said Evelyn’s mother, “but they have never had a 
little girl to take care of before.” 

Everybody was interested in the doll — Emily 
Wainwright and Mrs. Wainwright, who came to 
supper also, and Lottie and Nancy. 

“We’ve got to give her a name,” said Emily. 

“We’ll take the first letter of each of your names 
and make one for her,” said Mrs. Wainwright. Mrs. 
West brought out a box of letters and she mixed an N 
and two E’s and an L together. Neel did n’t make 
a very good name. Leen was n’t very much better. 

“I’ve got it,” cried Nancy, “Elen — we’ll call 
her Ellen.” 

“That’s the wrong way to spell Ellen,” said Jim 
scornfully. He could have no part in dressing the doll, 
but he had given fifteen cents towards her clothes, 
so he felt interested. 


24 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


“Ellen is a very good name for her,” said Mrs. 
Wainwriglit; “and if you don’t mind including me, 
you can put in a second L.” As Mrs. Wainwright’s 
name was Louisa, this made it very complete. 

“Only, mother and I don’t come in at all,” said 
Jim. 

“She can have James for her middle name,” said 
Mrs. Wainwright. “That is sometimes a last name, 
and that will get in the S for your mother.” So the 
doll became Ellen James Lane. 

Her clothes were given out to different people to 
make. “I’ll knit her a sleeveless sweater,” said Mrs. 
West, who had just finished her third for a soldier. 

“And I have some pieces of Emily’s winter 
dress; I’ll make the dress,” said Mrs. Wainwright. 
“A dark-blue dress with a white guimpe will be very 
pretty.” 

“I’ll knit her an undershirt and make her under- 
clothes,” said Emily. 

“I’d like to make her a petticoat, because it’s all 
I can make,” said Nancy. 

“I want to make her a petticoat,” said Evelyn. 

“You can each make her a petticoat; she might as 
well have two,” said Mrs. Wainwright, “and Emily 
and I will make her a dress and coat and a stocking 
cap.” 

“Oh, is she going to have a stocking cap.^” cried 
Evelyn, dancing about the room. “And who’ll make 
her some shoes she asked. 


ELLEN 


25 


“I believe the bronze ones that are too big for Ma- 
tilda would just fit her,” Nancy said. 

Evelyn was not at all anxious to give away the 
shoes, even though they were a misfit for Matilda. 
But when she tried them on and found they exactly 
fitted Ellen, there seemed to be nothing to do but 
to let Ellen wear them. 

When Ellen was dressed she was certainly the most 
satisfactory child that any little shut-in girl could 
have. Over her blue dress she wore a long red coat; 
and she had a red cap and a blue muffler with white 
stripes on the ends. So she was a true war doll, all 
in red, white, and blue. She also had a fuzzy white 
muff for best, and her red sleeveless sweater could 
be worn under her coat in cold weather. She had a 
tiny handkerchief, with an E.J.L. embroidered in one 
corner in red by Mrs. West. 

Mrs. Wainwright gave her a trunk that held her 
extra petticoat and a blue-and-white checked gingham 
dress that Lottie had made her. It also held a wash- 
rag that Jim had knit, and a tiny brush and comb 
and mirror David Wainwright had bought, and a 
summer hat Lottie had trimmed with a scarf of blue. 
On the outside of the trunk, Lottie painted in black 
letters, E.J.L. 

“Mother, darling, don’t you think it would be nice 
if Sophia could come and spend the night before 
Christmas with us.?” Evelyn asked. 

“But if Nancy comes — ” 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


“We could sleep three in a bed the wide way, just 
as Prue and Nancy and I did at Thanksgiving.” 

“I don’t believe her aunts would ever let her 
come.” 

“We could ask Dr. Wainwright. They always let 
her do what he says. Oh, please telephone to Dr. 
Wainwright right off now this minute.” 

“You can telephone yourself if you care so much 
about it.” 

Mrs. West sat down at her little table where the 
telephone stood, with its long green cord that was long 
enough for her to have it by her bed. 

Dr. Wainwright was at home, and Mrs. West said, 
“My little girl has something especial she wants to 
ask you.” 

When Evelyn began to talk into the telephone she 
felt so embarrassed she could not think of what she 
wanted to say. 

“Well, what is it?” said Dr. Wainwright in his 
cheery voice; “has your daughter Mehitable got the 
chicken-pox? ” 

“I haven’t any daughter Mehitable. Mine have 
nice names.” 

“Perhaps it’s the smallpox,” said the doctor. “If 
so, you’ll all have to be quarantined.” 

“It’s about Sophia Lane,” said Evelyn. “Can’t 
you tell her aunts you think it will do her good to 
spend Christmas Eve with Nancy and me and sleep 
three in a bed? We’d let her sleep in the middle,” she 


ELLEN 27 

said generously. “He’s laughing, mother — what is 
he laughing at.^” 

“I should think three in a bed would be rather a 
tight squeeze,” said the doctor. “lam afraid her aunts 
would n’t approve.” 

“It’s the wide way of the bed and there’s lots of 
room.” 

“I’ll do my best for you,” said the doctor. 

Evelyn began to dance about the room. 

But alas! the best-laid plans of little girls are no 
more sure of going right than are those of mice and 
men. Both Miss Gertrude and Miss Molly came 
down with the grippe just before Christmas, Sophia 
herself had a cold, and Miss Emily had to take care 
of all three of them. 

“I should think it would be nice to get Sophia out 
of the house,” said Evelyn. 

But the doctor was firm; he would not let a little 
girl with a cold sleep in a bed with two other little 
girls who did not have colds. Evelyn thought doctors 
were very tiresome. So the only thing to be done was 
to take the doll and her trunk up to Sophia’s house 
on the afternoon before Christmas, and leave the 
parcels at the door, for they were not allowed to go 
into a house where they had the grippe. Mrs. West 
said they could wait outside the door, if Sophia was 
well enough to be at the window, and watch her undo 
the parcels. All six went — Lottie and Emily, Nancy 
and Evelyn, and David and Jim. 


28 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


“We might as well go along,” said Jim, in his off- 
hand way. “We’ll take you and Nancy on our sleds.” 

“Truly, Jim?” 

Emily was the one to take the parcels to the front 
door of the Lanes’ house. She had been named for Miss 
Emily, who was her mother’s intimate friend. The 
other girls stood as near the house as they could get, 
while the boys waited at the gate as if they had no 
interest in the fate of Ellen. 

Sophia was at the window, so her cold must be bet- 
ter. She brightened up when she saw them and waved 
to them all. Evelyn and Nancy threw kisses back to 
her. Jim threw a snowball that hit Lottie squarely in 
the back. It made her jump. 

“Jim, you naughty boy!” she said. She looked up 
at the window and saw that Sophia was laughing. 
Although she had gone to her every afternoon until 
they had grippe at the house, she had never seen her 
laugh so hard before. 

Emily handed the parcels in to the maid and came 
down the steps. Presently they saw Miss Emily hand 
Ellen to Sophia. Her fingers were clumsy and her 
aunt seemed to be offering to untie the red ribbon, 
but the little girl vigorously shook her head. First the 
ribbon came off, then the outer paper, and then the 
tissue paper inside of that. Evelyn had never seen 
any little girl look so happy as Sophia looked as she 
clasped Ellen in her arms. Even the boys were im- 
pressed. 


ELLEN 


But when Sophia opened the trunk and found all 
the things in it, her delight knew no bounds. She 
wiped Ellen’s face with the wash-cloth; she made her 
look in the tiny mirror; and, finally, she made Ellen 
wave her tiny handkerchief. 

Miss Emily put Ellen on the window-sill, and she 
made a patch of red, white, and blue. 

“It’s a real war Christmas,” said Lottie, “for we 
are not going to have a tree.” 

“And we are patriotic with our red, white, and 
blue,” said Emily. 

“And Sophia is ’most as badly off as a French 
orphan,” said Evelyn, “with her father and mother 
both away.” 


IV 

The Goal Famine 



^HE food got stranger and stranger as the strange 


jL year went on. The Wests had grapefruit in the 
morning, sweetened with maple syrup, and barley 
bread with nut butter. Mr. West had got so he liked 
it; and everybody, except Lottie, felt that all these 
things were of small account if only the good food 
could be got across the water to help our soldiers win 
the war. Things looked very black, however, in these 
winter days; and to add to everybody’s depression, 
there was no coal to be had. The Wests had put in 
their winter supply in the spring, so their house was 
warm and comfortable. But the Merrifields had got 
down to their last half-ton. 

In the spring, Mr. West had said to Mr. Merrifield, 
‘‘John, there’ll be a big coal famine next winter. I am 
going to get in all my coal now. You ’d better do the 
same.” 

“I should feel it were hoarding if I did,” said Mr. 
Merrifield. “I’ll take my chance with my neighbors.” 

To make matters worse it was bitter cold weather 
— the coldest that had been known for twenty-five 
years. The Miss Lanes were burning their last ton 
of coal and could not get any more, and Lottie 


THE COAL FAMINE 


31 


shivered in her sweater whenever she went to amuse 
Sophia. The farm began to look very pleasant, for 
they had great rousing wood fires all over the house, 
and they made their own butter. Lottie left the nut 
butter uneaten, and she had such a martyr-like ex- 
pression that Mrs. West was troubled. The Germans 
were sinking all the ships they could, and one won- 
dered how much of the food that was n’t eaten here 
got safely across the water. Evelyn and Nancy had 
a very happy time, and the stranger things were the 
better they liked it. 

“It’s cold as cold at Nancy’s house,” Evelyn said 
one afternoon when she came home. “It’s such fun 
wearing a sweater all the time.” 

“Have n’t they any furnace fire.^” 

“Just a teenty-tinety one made of wood. And they 
are burning wood in the kitchen and using the gas 
stove. Mr. Merrifield has given away a lot of his coal, 
and he gave some the other day to a poor widow 
woman.” 

“Don’t say ‘widow woman,’ dear.” 

“That’s what Maria called her. She’s the one who 
sometimes does extra washing for them. So when 
the widow lady came back with the washing — ” 

“ It is enough to call her a widow.” 

“She said she couldn’t do any more because she 
could n’t get any coal, and she wanted to buy some 
of Mr. Merrifield. So he gave her some and would n’t 
let her pay for it; and Mrs. Merrifield said he and 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


82 

Nancy would give the clothes off their backs. And 
he was afraid the widow was starving, too, so Mrs. 
Merrifield went round to find out, and she took 
Nancy and me with her. And what do you think, 
mother Her room was hot as hot, and she had just 
made a big round frosted cake which she is going 
to send to her boy at Camp Devens.” 

“I’m glad somebody is going to have a cake,” said 
Mrs. West. 

“Oh, it was such a nice cake, mother!” and Eve- 
lyn’s eyes shone at the recollection. “It was bigger and 
frostier than any we’ve had since before the war. 
She was so thankful to Mr. Merrifield for having 
sent her the coal. And what do you think, mother 
There was a little of the cake left over, that was baked 
in something else, and she gave Nancy and me each 
a piece! and, oh, how good it was! And the widow 
said she was so glad to get the coal, because she ’d been 
’most freezing, and her boy would be so pleased with 
the cake. And, oh, mother, just think, there is only 
enough coal for us to have church one more Sunday ! ” 

‘Hs it possible?” 

“Mr. Carey has asked Mr. Merrifield to come to 
his church, and Nancy says it’s got the dearest little 
doors to the pews, so each pew is like a little house; 
and I should think I could take a doll to church in a 
pew like that, and nobody would notice.” 

“My dear child, how many times shall I have to 
tell you you can never take a doll to church?” 


THE COAL FAMINE 


33 


“Mr. Carey will do some of the preaching and 
praying, and Mr. Merrifield will do some, and both 
choirs are going to sing; and we are all going to have 
Sunday School together after church instead of before. 
Won’t it be fun?” 

Mrs. West was not so much pleased with the pros- 
pect as Evelyn was. It seemed very unhomelike to her 
to go to another church and sit in a strange pew; and 
when the Sunday for the change came, her husband 
said he was so busy that he would have to stay at 
home. This was a disappointment. 

The Miss Lanes went to Mr. Carey’s church, so 
they asked the Wests to sit in their pew. Sophia never 
went because she was so lame; and the aunts took 
turns in staying at home with her. This Sunday it 
was Miss Emily’s turn to stay behind. Mrs. West and 
the children followed the two Miss Lanes up the 
broad aisle of the church to a pew very far in front. 
They both wore their hats with their long black veils. 
Miss Gertrude was very tall and dignified, and Miss 
Molly was short and plump, and quite out of breath 
from having walked up the hill. Evelyn put her hand 
on Nancy, who was going up the aisle with her 
mother, and then she looked at the Miss Lanes and 
smiled; for she was thinking of how she had called 
them the crow ladies. But Nancy did not smile back, 
because she was in church, so she walked along 
primly, like the good little girl she was. 

Evelyn was so pleased with the pew door that she 


34 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


held on to it and swung it back and forth, as one after 
another of the older people went into the pew; and 
her mother had to tell her to come in and sit down. 
In the pew there was one seat facing the minister and 
another facing the choir; and the cushions were a 
shade of red she especially liked. She could not under- 
stand much of Mr. Merrifield’s sermon, but the text 
was one she had learned at Sunday School, “It is 
more blessed to give than to receive.” She looked at 
Jim and smiled, but he did not seem to see her; and 
then she looked at Lottie and smiled, but Lottie was 
sitting up very still and straight. Then she smiled at 
her mother, and her mother smiled back at her. There 
seemed to be a great deal about giving in the sermon, 
only Evelyn did not know what all the words meant. 
Mr. Merrifield said a good deal about the soldiers 
and how everybody must give, give, give, the best 
they had. 

Evelyn thought of the widow and the frosted cake. 
Mr. Merrifield gave the coal to the widow, and she 
gave the frosted cake to her boy, and he probably 
gave some of it to his friends; so everybody was giv- 
ing. And she had given the bronze shoes to Sophia’s 
doll. She felt pleased to think she had given some- 
thing. Only, it was not exactly the best she had, be- 
cause the shoes had n’t fitted any of her own dolls. 
Still, she had wanted to keep them, and she had given 
them away; that was something. 

She wondered what else she could give. And then 


THE COAL FAMINE 


35 


she thought how warm their house was, and how 
cold it was at the Miss Lanes’ house and at Nancy’s 
house. So she made up her mind she would tell her 
father how Mr. Merrifield had given some coal to 
the widow, when he had only a little left himself; 
and how nice it would be to give him lots and lots 
of coal, and then lots and lots more to the Miss 
Lanes. Then all three houses would be warm in- 
stead of ]ust one. So when she came home from 
church she ran into her father’s library, where he 
was doing some writing. Her father did not like to 
be disturbed by most people when he was writing, 
but it was very seldom he minded being interrupted 
by his small daughter. 

‘‘Well, what is it, little pigeon he asked, putting 
down his pen and taking her on his knee. He stroked 
her yellow hair and begged for a kiss. 

“It was such a nice sermon, father,” she said. 
“And it was all about giving, and I thought it would 
be nice to give the Merrifields lots and lots of our 
coal, and the Lanes lots and lots more, and then we’d 
all be warm.” 

“But, Evelyn, there would n’t be enough coal for 
us all to be warm all winter, and nobody knows when 
we are going to get any more.” 

“But, father, we could give them some,” and she 
told him how Mr. Merrifield had shared his with 
the widow. 

“I warned John Merrifield in the spring. It is 


36 THE STRANGE YEAR 

his own fault. He could have got it when I got 
mine.” 

“And the Miss Lanes.^^” 

“They are like the ‘foolish virgins/ in the Bible. 
I am sorry for them, but I can’t supply the whole 
town with coal. I might just as well be expected to 
take them all into my house. That would be a great 
deal more practical, for the same amount of coal 
would do for all three families.” 

Her father told her to run away, for he was busy; 
and Evelyn was much pleased with this new idea. 
She suspected her father was joking, but it seemed a 
very sensible plan to her. She could think of nothing 
nicer than having all three families living together. 
It was no more strange than all going to church to- 
gether to save coal, and no more strange than all 
the other things that happened this strange year. So 
she told her mother what a nice plan she thought it 
would be. 

“I don’t know how we could stow away so many,” 
said her mother; “and it would be a pretty big family 
for Ann and Catherine, if we were to take in seven 
more people.” 

“Sophia and Nancy and I could all sleep together, 
the wide way of the bed, and there ’s lots of room for 
the others.” 

“If you don’t beat the Dutch!” said Jim, looking 
up from his book. 

There came another cold snap, and Mrs. West 


THE COAL FAMINE 37 

went over to see how the Merrifields were get- 
ting on. 

‘‘We have been able to get a load of wood,” said 
Mrs. Merrifield, “so we are all right for a few days.” 

Evelyn had gone over with her mother, but Mrs. 
West said, “I think Nancy had better come to our 
house to play with Evelyn this afternoon, because 
it is so much colder here, I am afraid Evelyn might 
take cold.” 

“I have been afraid for Nancy,” said Mrs. Merri- 
field, “but I believe what Dr. Wainwright says is 
right — that we all keep our houses a great deal too 
hot.” 

A few days later Mr. West came home and said: 
“Sadie, I’ve asked the Merrifields to come and stay 
with us until they can get some coal. It’s a sin and 
shame the way John shares everything he has. He 
does n’t deserve to be helped out, he’s so unpractical; 
but if ever there was a Christian who lived up to 
what he preaches it’s John. I take off my hat to him.” 

So Evelyn and Nancy had the fun of sleeping to- 
gether; and, as the Miss Lanes’ coal gave out soon 
after, their great house was closed; and Miss Emily 
and Sophia went to stay for a few weeks with the 
Wainwrights, and Miss Gertrude and Miss Molly 
went to the Baxters’ for a time. It was quite like the 
game of stage-coach. Everybody’s plans were changed 
by the coal famine. 


V 


Lottie 


HE one person in the house who made things 



A. hard for Mrs. West, during this time, was Lottie. 
She had always been spoiled at the farm, for ever 
since she was a little girl she had known exactly what 
she wanted, and she had fussed so much if she did 
not get it that her grandmother and her Aunt Mattie 
found it easier to let her have her own way than not. 
She had golden hair and gray eyes, and a pleasant 
voice and gentle manner; so every one thought what 
a sweet girl Lottie was until they had known her for 
some time. Then they thought, “What a pity such 
a nice girl should be so selfish!” It was a pity; and 
everybody in the Wests’ house had found this out, 
except Lottie herself. The longer she stayed, and 
the more at home she felt, the harder it was for the 


others. 


As things became more and more uncomfortable, 
Lottie grew more and more homesick for the farm. 
She did not like any of the new war recipes, and she 
could not see why people with so much money as 
her Cousin James and Cousin Sadie should feel they 
must conform to the government regulations. 

“But don’t you see, Lottie,” said Mrs. West, “how 


LOTTIE 


39 


we must all do our part to get food across to our men 
by going without ourselves? ” 

Lottie did not answer. She merely looked sulky. 
What she thought was: “I’m sure the soldiers will 
get all the sugar and bacon and meat that is good 
for them, and they ought to expect some hardships. 
And I don’t see why the French must have all the 
white flour, just because they like it better. So do I, 
but nobody considers me.” 

When the Merrifields had come — at the time of 
the coal famine — Lottie had looked very much in- 
jured because she had to move out of her comfortable 
room. But when some out-of-town guests came for 
over Sunday, and she had to sleep on a sofa in the 
room with Evelyn and Nancy, she cleared out her 
bureau drawers to the sound of much grumbling. 

“I don’t see why, if people invite themselves like 
that, and it is so inconvenient to take them in, you 
can’t tell them they can’t come,” she said. “And a 
whole family, too! I think it is outrageous.” 

Poor Mrs. West found it very hard to make things 
run smoothly, for the maids were overworked and 
tired, and everybody seemed upset. 

“Well, Ann,” Mrs. West said one day, “we shan’t 
have such a big family much longer. They say there 
is going to be plenty of coal next week.” 

“I wouldn’t mind having the Merrifields,” said 
Ann. “Mrs. Merrifield is such a help around the 
house. There never was a better child than Nancy, 


40 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


and Mr. Merrifield is a saint. It ’s worse having Miss 
Lottie than all three of them put together.’’ 

Mrs. West, for the moment, felt inclined to agree 
with her, but loyalty forbade her saying so. “Lottie 
means to be a help,” she said; “she always makes her 
own bed, and she is very nice with the children. She 
likes to hear the reading aloud in the evening, and 
her music is a great pleasure to Mr. West and me.” 

“Maybe I should appreciate her better if I were 
musical,” said Ann. 

“I wonder, James,” said Mrs. West to her husband 
that evening, “if we can’t do something to prevent 
Lottie fussing so over her food. It’s so discouraging 
to the maids.” 

He had not thought much about it. But the next 
morning he noticed how critical she was about her 
breakfast; and the morning after that, she was more 
trying than usual, for the oatmeal was scorched. 
Catherine was very much disturbed when she found 
she had scorched the oatmeal, but it was only slightly 
scorched; and she thought Jim and Evelyn would not 
notice it, and as for Miss Lottie, she seldom touched 
oatmeal. But this morning, she did not taste her 
banana because part of the skin looked so black, and 
she said, “I’ll take a little oatmeal, please.” Her nose 
went up and she gave a little sniff and pushed her 
saucer away. 

“Is n’t your oatmeal all right. asked Mrs. West 
anxiously. 


LOTTIE 


41 


“No, it’s burned. Can I have an egg, please.^” 

Mrs. West rang for Ann, only to find there were no 
more eggs in the house. “Eggs are so expensive now,” 
said Mrs. West apologetically, “that I am trying to 
get along with a dozen less.” 

“You don’t seem to realize, Lottie, that eggs are 
eighty-five cents a dozen,” said Mr. West, who had 
just paid his grocer’s bill. 

“Gee, but I’d like to go to France!” said Jim. He 
had said this so often that everybody laughed, except 
Lottie. She looked very sulky. 

“How should I know that eggs are eighty-five 
cents a dozen,” she was thinking, “when they are as 
fresh as can be at the farm, and we can have all we 
want.?” 

“Eat your breakfast, Lottie, and don’t make any 
more fuss,” her Cousin James commanded. “I won- 
der what you’d do if you were in the trenches.?” 

Lottie adored her Cousin James, and she felt so 
hurt at the way he spoke to her that it was all she 
could do not to burst into tears. She got up and 
quickly went out of the room. 

“I’m afraid you’ve hurt her feelings,” said Mrs. 
West. 

“I hope I have. Somebody ought to hurt them, or 
she’ll grow up an intolerable nuisance.” 

“But that is n’t the way to help matters.” 

Mrs. West was going up to see Lottie, before she 
went off to school, but Ann came to tell her there 


42 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


was a bad leak in the plumbing, so she forgot all about 
Lottie. The poor child had locked herself into her 
room and was crying as if her heart would break. And 
all through school, that morning, the oftener she 
thought of what her Cousin James had said, the worse 
she felt. Then she made up her mind that when she 
went to amuse Sophia that afternoon, she would take 
a dress-suit-case with her and tell them she had come 
for a visit. Now that there was coal in town, once 
more, the Miss Lanes had gone home and opened the 
brick house, and they were all living there with 
Sophia. But the little girl was so homesick after hav- 
ing been in the Wainwrights’ lively family, that Miss 
Emily had said to Lottie, only the day before, “I 
wish you could come and make us a long visit. It 
would do Sophia a great deal of good.” 

“I’m afraid Cousin James and Cousin Sadie 
could n’t spare me,” she had said. Now, she said to 
herself, drearily, “They’ll be glad to get rid of me. 
Oh, dear, I wish I was at home at the farm!” 

Lottie came back and ate her dinner without say- 
ing anything. Mr. and Mrs. West had gone to Boston 
for the day, and Jim and Evelyn talked so much they 
did not notice Lottie’s silence. 

As soon as dinner was over she went upstairs and 
put some underclothing and a dress into her suit- 
case. “I’ll take enough things so I can stay a week, 
anyway,” she said. “And I guess I’ll stay until I go 
to the farm for Easter vacation.” 


LOTTIE 


43 


She did not want to tell the children or the maids 
of her plan, but being a child who thought things out 
carefully, she decided it would be best to write a note 
and leave it behind, so her Cousin Sadie should not 
worry about her. This was what the heroine in a story 
always did. So she wrote in her round, childish hand: 

Dear Cousin Sadie, After what happened this morn- 
ing, and the things Cousin James said, you will not 
be surprised at my accepting an invitation from the 
Miss Lanes. I expect to stay a week. 

Yours aff’ly 

Lottie 

She pinned this note on her Cousin Sadie’s pin^ 
cushion where she would see it the first thing when 
she came home. And she slipped out of the house 
without any one seeing her. She felt like a traveler 
starting on a great adventure. As she passed the 
Wainwrights’ house, who should come out but David. 

“Hullo, where are you going he asked. 

“I’m going to the Lanes’ for a little visit.” 

“Let me carry your suit-case for you.” 

David was small and the bag was large. Lottie was 
afraid it was too heavy for him, but he only smiled 
in his engaging way, and said cheerily, “Father says 
one must always carry things for girls.” 

“But I’m a lot older and bigger than you are. 
Let’s both carry it.” 

“It does n’t make any difference about your big- 


44 THE STRA.NGE YEAR 

ness,” said David; “I always carry mother’s things 
for her.” 

Miss Gertrude and Miss Emily Lane were in their 
best spare room when they saw Lottie coming up the 
path. David had left her just before she got to the 
gate, for he saw Charley Norcross coming down the 
street. The Miss Lanes were overseeing the cleaning 
of the best bedroom, for they were expecting Sophia’s 
mother in a week or two. 

“The curtains will have to come down and be done 
over,” Miss Emily decided. 

“ Why, here comes some one with a dress-suit-case,” 
said Miss Gertrude, who was very near-sighted. “I 
suppose it is one of those Armenian women with 
things to sell.” 

“It’s Lottie West,” said her sister. “I’m afraid 
she ’s come for a visit. I asked her if she could n’t 
come, but I did n’t expect her to arrive like a thunder- 
bolt out of a clear sky. It’s a most inconvenient time, 
with the spring cleaning and dressmaking at the 
house. Well, I suppose Sophia will be delighted.” 

Miss Gertrude could never pretend to be glad when 
she was n’t. So Miss Emily tried to make up by 
being especially cordial, but it was n’t easy for her 
either; and they both were so stiff that poor Lottie 
suspected she had come at the wrong time. 

“You asked me to come and make you a visit,” 
she faltered, “and I said I couldn’t, but I found I 
could, so I just came along.” 


LOTTIE 


45 


“That is very nice,” said Miss Emily; “Sophia 
will be so glad.” 

“If it is n’t convenient — ” 

“It is, only that we did n’t know you were coming, 
and we’ve got the best bedroom all upset. But we are 
so glad to have you, if you don’t mind sleeping in a 
small and rather cold room.” 

Miss Emily showed Lottie into the small, cold 
room. “I am sorry, but the furnace heat doesn’t 
come up from this register very well,” she said. “But 
you won’t sit here; you’ll only have to sleep here, 
and you can dress in the bathroom. Sophia will be so 
glad to see you,” she repeated. 

The room seemed like a refrigerator to Lottie, who 
was used to the Wests’ warm rooms. She put down 
her suit-case and went in to see Sophia, who had 
seen her come up the path, for she was sitting at the 
window with her Aunt Molly, who was reading to 
her. Sophia had Ellen in her arms. She had never 
seen the little girl’s face light up as it lit up now. 

“You’ve come to stay?” she asked. 

“Yes.” 

“And you are not going back to-night?” 

“No.” 

“Nor to-morrow night?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

“Nor the night after?” 

“I don’t think so. It depends on how long your 
aunts want me to stay.” 


46 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


“We hope you’ll stay at least a week,” said Miss 
Emily. “Sophia’s mother may come at the end of a 
week.” 

“But there’s lots of room in this big house,” said 
Sophia. “Ellen,” — and she made the doll hold out 
her small hand to Lottie — “just think of it, your 
Aunt Lottie has come to make us a visit. Are n’t you 
glad.?*” 

Then Sophia changed her voice and spoke in a 
squeaky little voice for Ellen. “I’m just dehghted 
to see you. Aunt Lottie.” 

“I’m glad somebody’s dehghted,” thought Lottie. 


VI 

The Long Week 

I T was almost supper-time when the Wests got 
home, and Evelyn’s mother was so tired that she 
did not go upstairs to change her dress. 

“Do he down on the sofa,” said Evelyn, who al- 
ways noticed when her mother was tired. 

Jim brought the afghan in from the other room, and 
he dumped it on his mother, boy-fashion, while his 
small sister smoothed out the wrinkles. 

Nobody missed Lottie until they sat down to sup- 
per; and then Jim asked, “Where’s Lottie.^” 

“She must have stayed at the Wainwrights’ to 
supper. Did she telephone, Ann, or leave a message.^ ” 
“No, Mrs. West.” 

“She ought to have telephoned,” said Mr. West. 
“This is the second time she has stayed without 
sending us word.” He missed her music; and when it 
was time to read aloud, Mrs. West said, “Lottie is so 
interested in the story, let’s wait for her.” 

“No,” said Mr. West, “if she does n’t come home 
or send any word, I ’m not going to wait for her, she 
can read up.” And he went on with the adventures of 
“Lorna Doone.” 

When it got to be half-past eight, Mr. West said: 


48 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


“How is she going to get home? Had n’t I better go 
and call for her?” 

“The doctor will see her home, if she is there, and 
I can’t think where else she can be.” 

“I’ll telephone to make sure,” said he. The doc- 
tor may be called out. She’s a most inconsiderate 
child.” 

“I’m going to bed, I’m so tired,” said his wife. 
And she dragged herself upstairs. 

Mr. West took up the telephone and called the doc- 
tor’s number. He asked if Lottie was there, and when 
he was told she was not, he said, “What, not there! 
Where can she be?” 

And just then his wife called down, “James, I’ve 
found a note from her, and she ’s going to make the 
Lanes a visit.” 

Mr. West ran upstairs. He read the note and gave 
a low whistle. “Upon my word, I did n’t think the 
little girl had so much spunk,” he said. “She’s her 
great-grandmother all over again — trying to live 
with, but a force in the town.” 

“Evelyn and I will go around to-morrow after- 
noon,” said Mrs. West, “and we’ll persuade her to 
come back.” 

“Indeed, you won’t do anything of the kind, Sadie, 
Y'ou’ve spoiled her too long. I’ll take a hand now. 
Let her carry out her plan and stay there until she’s 
ready to come home. I know the type. You never 
knew my Grandmother West,” 


THE LONG WEEK 


49 


Meanwhile Lottie had had a forlorn time at the 
Lanes’. She was glad to make Sophia happy, but 
after she had put the little girl to bed and joined the 
three sisters in the parlor, she began to be extremely 
homesick. They did not have any piano, or even a 
Victrola. They sat around the student lamp, with 
one gas-jet Hghted above them, and Lottie could not 
decide which one of them was having the most dreary 
time. Miss Molly was playing Patience with a small 
pack of cards, and Miss Emily was reading the news- 
paper to herself, occasionally reading a scrap aloud, 
while Miss Gertrude, whose eyes were not strong, 
was knitting a sweater for a soldier. Miss Emily took 
up her knitting, and Lottie was amazed to see her 
knit a soldier’s sock and read at the same time. 

‘‘Did you bring your knitting.^” she asked Lottie. 

“No, I forgot to put it in.” 

“I’ve plenty of yam. I’ll start a sock for you.” 

“But I don’t know how to make socks.” 

“Then it is time you learned. I’ll teach you. 
There’s a drive on at the Red Cross for socks. You 
might just as well be helping some poor soldier win 
the war.” 

Nobody had ever put it to Lottie in just that way 
before. Her Cousin Sadie had been quite content in 
letting her stick to the mufflers her grandmother had 
taught her to make. 

“I’ve never made anything but mufflers before,” 
said Lottie. 


50 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


“How many mufflers have you made since we went 
into the war?” asked Miss Emily. 

“Two and a half.” 

“Only two and a half in almost a year!” 

Miss Molly was pushing her cards together. “I 
never can make that game come out right,” she said. 

“Y^ou’d better get out your knitting, and not 
waste any more time,” said Miss Emily. 

Miss Molly took up her muffler with a httle sigh. 

“How many have you made. Miss Molly?” asked 
Lottie. 

Miss Molly hesitated. “ I am afraid this is only my 
fourth.” 

“Sophia has knit two, since she came to us,” said 
Miss Emily. 

Lottie thought of the reading aloud that was going 
on at the Wests’. She had expected that they would 
call her up and urge her to come back the next day. 
She had a faint hope that her Cousin James might 
call for her that night and say he was sorry he had 
hurt her feehngs. But the evening passed and nothing 
of the kind happened. All that did happen was that 
Miss Emily persisted in teaching her how to knit and 
seam. She made several mistakes and finally she said: 
“I guess I won’t try to learn to make socks; it’s too 
hard. I’ll begin a muffler.” 

“No,” said Miss Emily, “that would be deserting 
at your post. If you were a soldier you would n’t 
desert. Now, it’s much easier to knit socks for sol- 


THE LONG WEEK 


51 


diers than it is to do the fighting. Your job is to make 
socks. Pull that out and begin over again. You want 
to have it just right.” 

Lottie had never been talked to in this way before. 
She felt very much injured, and yet she looked at the 
lady before her with much interest. Miss Emily was 
neither handsome nor young nor charming; she had 
nice eyes and a pleasant smile; and she was not old. 
This was the most Lottie could find at first. What 
gave her such power? Why did she do what she said? 

“Oh, dear, I’ve made another mistake,” said 
Lottie. 

“I’ll fix that for you. You are doing very well. 
I’m glad you don’t like to do poor work.” 

“No,” said Lottie, “if I’ve got to make a sock, I 
want to make it just right.” 

When bedtime came Miss Emily told Lottie to 
undress in the bathroom; and she came into her room, 
the last thing, with a warm comforter and a traveling 
clock. She put the clock down on a little table at the 
head of the bed. 

“You’ll know when it is time to get up in the 
morning if you have this,” she said. “We have break- 
fast punctually at eight o’clock.” The clock struck 
tlie half-hour. 

Lottie was about to say she could never sleep in a 
room with a clock, but Miss Emily had gone over and 
shut the window partly down, and this distracted 
her mind. 


52 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


“I always sleep with my window wide open/’ said 
Lottie. 

“But it is a very cold night and this is a cold room. 
Good-night, sleep well.” Miss Emily hesitated, as if 
she was not in the habit of praising, and then she 
said, “You are going to make a fine knitter; I like the 
way you stuck to the job.” 

Lottie glowed all over at the praise. After this she 
could not speak about the clock. It bothered her 
greatly, however, and so did the hall clock and the 
one in the dining-room, directly under her. The httle 
travehng clock struck the hour after a while, in a 
faint, ladyhke voice; and, five minutes later, the hall 
clock boomed away in a bass voice; and, later still, 
the dining-room clock began piercingly. When they 
had all stopped, the church clock, on the top of the 
hill, gave out its loud peal. 

“What am I going to do.^” thought Lottie, as she 
tossed and turned. The travehng clock was ticking 
away merrily at the head of her bed, and there was no 
kind Cousin Sadie to whom she could appeal to take 
it away. There had been a clock in her room at Cousin 
Sadie’s, but it had not stayed there, even for the first 
night. The miserable little thing was ticking away. 

“What am I going to do.^” Her feet were as cold 
as ice. She had never thought to bring her hot-water 
bag with her. She got up and groped about the room. 
There were no convenient electric lights, as there 
were at Cousin Sadie’s. She put on her stockings and 


THE LONG WEEK 


53 


wrapped her petticoat around the clock, to dull the 
sound of the ticking, and carried it to the far end of 
the room, putting it on the mantelpiece. Pretty soon 
the clocks all began to strike again. This happened 
at intervals, until they struck small numbers instead 
of big ones; and then Lottie must have fallen asleep. 
For there was a skip between one o’clock and 
seven. 

At breakfast time she expected Miss Emily would 
ask her if she had had a good night, but instead of that 
she helped her to oatmeal with milk on it instead of 
cream. Miss Gertrude said how fast it was snowing. 
And then Miss Molly said: “I hope you had a good 
night, Lottie. Did you remember your dreams.? They 
all come true the first night you sleep in a strange 
room.” 

“I didn’t sleep very much,” said Lottie. “I’m 
not used to a clock in my bedroom, and so it kept 
me awake.” 

“That is too bad,” said Miss Molly. 

“She’ll sleep all right after a night or two,” said 
Miss Emily. “ She ’s too young to let herself be mas- 
tered all her life by clocks.” 

And after the third night Lottie found to her sur- 
prise that she went to sleep and did not notice the 
clocks at all. It might be a useful week in her edu- 
cation, but it was not a short one, nor a happy one. 
She expected Cousin Sadie and Evelyn to come to 
see her sometime Saturday, but all that happened was 


54 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


that Cousin Sadie telephoned to say she was so glad 
she was having such a pleasant change, and that on 
account of the snowstorm, they would not any of them 
come to see her. They would meet at church the next 
day. She had had quite a talk with Miss Emily be- 
fore Lottie was called to the telephone. 

Yes, it was a long week — the longest Lottie had 
ever known. But before it was over something strange 
happened : Lottie had learned why Emily Wainwright 
was so fond of her Aunt Emily, as she called her, 
although she was really no relation. Lottie respected 
herself a great deal more because she had learned how 
to make socks for soldiers, and because she was no 
longer troubled by the ticking and striking of clocks. 
And Miss Emily was somehow all mixed up with her 
self-respect. And yet, in spite of that, she was very 
happy indeed when the long week came to an end. 

‘‘Your Cousin James will call for you and bring 
you home Friday afternoon,” her Cousin Sadie tele- 
phoned. 

It was a beautiful afternoon, clear and cold, with 
the crisp air that sets one’s blood tingling. Although 
it was March, the snow was still on the ground. Lottie 
felt very happy as her Cousin James helped her into 
the sleigh by his side. 

“It’s such a fine afternoon we’ll go for a sleigh-ride 
first,” said he. The days were growing longer, but the 
sun was low and it would soon be twilight. They drove 
out into the country. It was the same direction in 


THE LONG WEEK 


55 


which they had driven on Thanksgiving Day, only 
they did not go so far this afternoon. 

Her Cousin James did not talk much at first, and 
Lottie settled back comfortably wrapped up in her 
Cousin Sadie’s fur coat and the buffalo robe. She had 
a warm feeling of having got home. It was all so beau- 
tiful — the winter woods, with the snow lightly pow- 
dering the firs and pines, and the tracks of little ani- 
mals which made the lonely woods seem like the home 
of so many wild creatures. Lottie had never been es- 
pecially fond of animals, but the sight of a gray squir- 
rel and some pheasants made her wonder what sort 
of homes they had. A home seemed to her the best 
thing in the world, just now. Beyond the patch of 
woods was a village with a church spire, and another 
spire a little farther down the street. Were the 
congregations in these two churches combining on 
account of the coal famine.^ She saw two girls, about 
her own age, at a window, winding yarn. She won- 
dered if they were going to make socks or mufflers. 
She had never thought so much about other people 
before. 

“Did you have a pleasant visit, Lottie.?” her 
Cousin James asked. 

“Yes, very,” she said primly. 

“I’m glad of that, for we missed you.” 

“Did you, really?” Lottie looked pleased. 

“Easter vacation is coming very soon, and I’ll take 
you back to the farm and spend Easter there. And 


56 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


when you come back for the spring term Miss Emily 
says she would be very glad to have you live with 
them, you are such a help. She says even after 
Sophia’s mother comes there’ll be plenty of room for 
you.” 

Lottie said nothing. 

“Of course if you want to do it, we have nothing 
to say.” 

And still Lottie did not speak. 

“Of course we’d much rather have you come back 
to us, but it’s for you to decide.” 

Still she said nothing. 

Mr. West flicked the reins and the horse broke into 
a trot. 

At last Lottie spoke. “I was just horrid that morn- 
ing. I’m sorry,” she said. 

“So was I, Lottie,” said Mr. West. “We’ve both 
of us got a streak of your Great-Grandmother West 
in us. Did your grandmother ever tell you about her.^ ” 

“No.” 

“You see two sisters married two brothers, so your 
father and I were double cousins; and, as we had no 
brothers, we were very fond of each other; and when 
he died — ” Mr. West broke off suddenly. “ Well, 
things have never been quite the same since,” he said 
in a matter-of-fact voice. “Our Grandmother West 
got things done at home, and in the town. She knew 
what she wanted, and she always got it. She was a 
fine woman, only she had one fault; she was so par- 


THE LONG WEEK 


57 


ticular, nobody liked to live in the same house with 
her. Now, Lottie, I’ve got a big streak of her in me, 
and I’m so old it’s hard for me to change; but you’re 
young, and you can be a comfort, or you can be a 
torment. Evidently, you were a comfort to the Lanes, 
or Miss Emily would n’t have asked you to come 
back to them for the spring term. It ’s for you to say 
whether you will be a comfort to them or a comfort 
to us. Which would you rather do?” 

‘‘I’d rather come back to you.” 

“Good.” 

There was a yellow streak in the sky when they 
got home, and the twilight was settling down. The 
shades were still up in the parlor, and Lottie could 
see the bright fire on the hearth. Her Cousin Sadie 
was knitting in the firelight; and Tim, the tiger-cat, 
was curled up on the hearth-rug. Evelyn was on the 
hearth-rug, too, with her doll, Virginia, in her arms. 
It all looked so homelike and cheerful that Lottie 
thought what a fortunate girl she was. 

At the sound of the sleigh-bells. Cousin Sadie turned 
on the electric light in the parlor, and came out into 
the hall. Evelyn ran down the steps and met Lottie 
as she was coming up the path. She flung her arms 
about her and kissed her again and again. “Darling 
Lottie,” she said. 

Her Cousin Sadie met her in the hall and kissed 
her warmly, and Jim appeared, looking rather offish. 

“Did n’t you miss me at all, ‘Jim?” Lottie asked. 


58 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


“I was too busy,” he said. 

“Are n’t you going to give me one kiss,- when Eve- 
lyn has given me so many?” and she put her hand 
on the little boy’s shoulder. 

He looked up at his tall young cousin and wriggled 
away from her hand. “You make me tired,” he said. 
“Gee, I’d like to go to France!” 


VII 

The Clocks that Misbehaved 


W HEN Mr. West started off with Lottie for the 
farm, the morning before Easter, he was full 
of directions to the household. He felt they were a 
very helpless family without him. 

“Be sure you remember to put the clocks forward 
an hour to-night, Sadie,’’ he said to his wife; “if you 
don’t, you’ll be late to church to-morrow.” 

“I’ll try not to forget.” 

“You’ll try not to forget! You’ll lose the whole 
Easter service if you do.” 

“Jim” — and Mr. West glanced at his small son, 
who was finishing his breakfast — “don’t be late 
to-morrow; and don’t let your mother forget the 
clocks. Come, Lottie, hurry up, or we’ll be late our- 
selves.” 

And Lottie, who was never known to hurry for 
any one, followed him in a leisurely way, as he picked 
up the bags and plunged down the front steps. 

Jim always missed his father, for he admired him 
more than he admired any one else in the whole world. 
He tried to be like him, and he felt very important 
now his father had gone: He reminded his mother 
all day long, at intervals, not to forget the clocks, until 


60 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


finally she turned on him and said, in her gentle 
voice, “Gee, but I’d like to go to France!” 

Jim began to laugh, and he did not say any more 
to her about the clocks. 

After dinner he and Evelyn began to build block 
houses in the nursery; and their mother took in her 
mending-basket and sat with them, it was so much 
more sociable than to be alone. There were days when 
she felt hardly any older than they did, and this was 
one of the days. She longed to get down on the floor 
and build block houses herself, but she had let the 
mending go so long there was a great deal to be done. 

“I’ve got twelve clocks in my house,” Evelyn said 
to Jim, “and they’ve all got to be fixed.” She took up 
a block and began to move its imaginary hands. 
“Jim,” she said, “I don’t see why the clocks have to 
be fixed. How does it help win the war.^ ” 

“It does n’t, you goosie; it’s just a plan so we can 
have more daylight,” he said. 

“But why do we want more daylight.^ Please tell 
me about it,” said Evelyn, who always wanted to 
know the reason why. 

“I’d be talking an hour, and I could n’t make you 
understand,” Jim said loftily. 

His mother suspected he did not know a great deal 
about the matter himself. “Evelyn, you are right,” 
she said; “putting the clocks forward is a war meas- 
ure. If we don’t have to light up until an hour later, 
we save in our electric-light bills; and if we save fifty 


THE CLOCKS THAT MISBEHAVED 


61 


cents or a dollar a month, we have just that much 
more money to put into Thrift Stamps. And if we 
have an extra hour of daylight, we can work in the 
garden, and all the people can have more string 
beans and potatoes to eat themselves, or to sell.” 

“There, Jim, I knew it had something to do with 
the war, because it was so queer. This is my best hall 
clock,” Evelyn said, taking up a block of the largest 
size and pretending to wind it. 

“Funny you can hold it in your hand like that,” 
said Jim. “I could nT carry around a hall clock that 
way.” 

“It’s a nice make-believe ’normous clock, like the 
one on the stairs at Sophia’s house, and it has a big, 
loud strike, like this: One, Two, Three,” and she 
made her voice sound as much like the clock as she 
could. “And this is a teenty-tinety clock,” and she 
took up one of the smallest-size blocks; “and it’s 
got a wee, wee voice — one, two, three. Now I ’ve 
changed the time; it’s four o’clock — one, two, 
three, four.” 

“If it’s four o’clock,” said Jim, “I’ve got to go 
straight off to David’s. I said I’d get there at four 
o’clock.” And he got up and pretended to be going 
out of the room. 

Evelyn ran and caught hold of his hand. 

“It is n’t really four o’clock,” she said. “You can 
play with me lots longer.” 

“Mother,” Jim said, “there’s going to be a soldier 


6 ^ 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


at the Town Hall to-night who was in the English 
army. He was in the trenches and he got wounded, 
and he’s going to tell all about it. It’s only fifty cents 
for children. I wish I could go. Could n’t you take 
me.^ David’s father is going to take him.” 

“I can’t go,” said Mrs. West, “because Mrs. Wain- 
wright has asked me to go in to the Symphony Con- 
cert with her.” 

“But, mother, it would be a lot more exciting to 
hear a soldier talk, who’s been in the trenches and 
gone ‘over the top,’ than to go to an old concert.” 

“It would be for you, but you see I have promised 
Mrs. Wainwright to go there to dinner to-night, and 
to the concert afterwards.” 

“I might go and hear the soldier with David and 
his father,” Jim suggested, “and I could go there to 
dinner, too.” 

“Then Evelyn would have to have her supper all 
alone; and, besides, they did n’t ask you to dinner. 
Perhaps they would n’t mind stopping for you to go 
to the lecture with them. If I can arrange it I 
will.” 

“I’d like to go to the lecture, too,” said Evelyn, 
“and hear the soldier talk about how he got on top.” 

“No, dear,” said her mother, “it would be alto- 
gether too late for you to be up.” 

Mrs. West let the children have their supper before 
she went out, so that she could sit at the table wdth 
them. The tickets had all been sold for the lecture. 


63 


THE CLOCKS THAT MISBEHAVED 

Jim was very much disappointed. It seemed very 
hard for a little boy to have to stay at home all 
alone, while all the other boys were going to hear 
about how a soldier went “over the top.” After 
Evelyn went to bed he felt still worse. Even Cather- 
ine was out. There was only Ann in the house, and 
Ann was very cross indeed. 

“Come, Evelyn, it’s time for you to go to bed,” 
said Ann. 

Evelyn began to tease to stay up a little longer. 
“Jim will be so lonely if I go to bed,” said she. 

“Come right along this minute,” said Ann. “You 
can’t fool around with me as you do with your 
mother.” 

Evelyn quickly followed Ann upstairs. It was then 
that Jim began to think about the clocks. 

“It would be great fun to put the clocks forward,” 
thought Jim. “But father has said, ‘Never touch the 
clocks.’ But this is a ‘special occasion,’ and father 
said, ‘Jim, don’t let your mother forget the clocks’; 
and she will forget them, I know she will. She ’ll come 
home so late, she’ll forget all about it, and we’ll all 
lose the Easter service to-morrow; and I just know it’s 
my duty to wind those clocks. I ’m sure it is, and I can 
do it while Ann is upstairs, so she won’t know a thing 
about it.” He thought he would begin with the kitchen 
clock, while he was sure Ann was in Evelyn’s room. 
He went into the kitchen and climbed up into a chair 
to reach the clock, which was on a shelf. Then he 


64 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


opened the clock door, which opened so hard he 
nearly lost his balance. To save himself, he caught 
hold of the shelf and sent something flying to the 
floor. Alas, it was Catherine’s little three-minute 
glass with sand in it by which she boiled the eggs. 
The shattered glass and the sand lay in a heap on the 
floor. He got the dustpan and brush and swept up the 
ruins, hastily putting them into the coal-hod. Then 
he climbed again, and took hold of the minute-hand. 
As he moved it around the circle and it reached the 
hour, it began to strike. He had forgotten it was 
going to strike. He hoped Ann would n’t hear it, for 
she might think it odd to have eight o’clock come 
so quick, when it was only five minutes past seven. 
It was lucky Evelyn’s room was so far away. Tim, 
the cat, was lying cozily on the bricks in front of the 
stove. Jim picked him up and carried him into the 
front part of the house. 

“We’ll have some fun together, old fellow,” he 
said. “I guess I’ll fix the parlor clock next.” 

He turned on the electric light, and Tim settled 
himself in the Morris chair, while Jim pulled forward 
the first chair he found and pushed it up to the man- 
telpiece, where the clock was. It was a small mahog- 
any clock, with a pointed roof to it. Jim opened the 
door and moved the hand forward. He got down, and 
then the pale green seat of the chair caught his eye. 
There seemed to be a gray smooch on it. He was 
afraid his shoes were n’t very clean; still, the smooch 


THE CLOCKS THAT MISBEHAVED 


65 


might have been there before — he hoped so. But 
he was not quite so sure his mother would thank him 
for putting the clocks forward. However, as he had 
begun, he must go on; and there were two more — 
one in the front hall, and one in the dining-room. The 
dining-room clock was a little traveling clock and 
did not strike, which was lucky, as Evelyn’s room 
was directly overhead. Jim put the hand around the 
dial, without any accidents, and now there was only 
the hall clock to do. He would wait until Ann went 
off into the back part of the house, because she 
would not be so likely to hear the clock strike. Still, 
it had such a loud strike one could hear it all over 
the house. Then he had a bright idea. Why should 
n’t he push the hour-hand along from seven to eight 
Then there would be no striking. He tried it and the 
hand moved along as easily as could be. There, it 
was twenty-five minutes past eight now, and there 
had been no tell-tale striking. Suddenly he wondered 
what hour it would strike next. Oh, dear, suppose 
he had upset the striking of the clock! What would 
his father say! Well, it was too late to think about 
that now. 

Just then the telephone rang. Jim went to the 
downstairs one, only to find Ann was answering it 
upstairs. “He’ll be ready when you call, sir,” Ann 
was saying. 

“Oh, Ann, what is it.^” he cried. There was no 
other “he” in the house at present but himself. 


66 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


Could it be that he was to go to the lecture, after all? 
“Ann, Ann, what is it?” he cried again. 

Ann came to the head of the stairs. “Dr. Wain- 
wright has had some extra tickets sent in for the lec- 
ture. Your mother says you can go. You are to spend 
the night with David. I’ll get your bag ready.” 

So it was a very happy little boy who listened to 
the soldier that evening, and he was too much inter- 
ested in hearing how he went “over the top” to think 
any more about the clocks. He did not know that his 
mother had said to Ann, just before she left the house, 
“I am so sorry to trouble you, Ann, but will you 
please set all the clocks forward the last thing before 
you go to bed to-night? It will be very late when I 
get home, and it would be so dreadful if I should for- 
get about them.” 

Ann was busy all the evening trimming a hat and 
altering a jacket she wanted to wear the next day. 
For Mrs. West had given her the Sunday off, so she 
was going to the earlier of the two morning services 
at the Methodist Church, and then to the country 
to spend the day with her sister. Her room was just 
over the kitchen, and after a time she heard a knock- 
ing at the back door. She knew it was probably the 
Sunday dinner, and she went down feeling very cross 
at being interrupted. “I shall be glad to have Lent 
over, so that Catherine will be at home sometimes in 
the evening to attend to the back door.” It was the 
dinner, and Ann told the boy he ought to have come 


THE CLOCKS THAT MISBEHAVED 


67 


in the afternoon instead of bringing folks down in 
the evening to let him in. She turned on the electric 
light and glanced at the clock. “Five minutes of 
nine!’’ She had thought it was about eight. How fast 
time went when one was busy ! She might as well put 
the clocks forward now, and then she would not have 
to come downstairs again. 

When Mrs. West came back late from the concert, 
she crept upstairs, so as not to wake up Evelyn; and 
she did not turn on the light until she got to her own 
room. Then she looked at her watch and moved it 
forward an hour. She was very sleepy, and the first 
thing she knew the next morning was that Evelyn was 
standing all dressed beside her and pulling her braid 
of hair. 

“Mother, dear, it’s half -past eight,” said Evelyn. 
“Breakfast’s on the table, and Catherine’s got to go 
to church, and Ann’s afraid she’ll be late herself.” 

“It can’t be half-past eight,” said Mrs. West, feel- 
ing for her watch. 

“All the clocks say so, mother. Ann fixed them all 
last night.” 

“My watch says half-past seven. I am sure I moved 
it forward. Well, probably I did n’t. I was so sleepy 
I don’t know what I did. Tell Catherine to go along 
to church. Eat your breakfast and let Ann clear the 
table. I only want a cup of coffee and some bread and 
butter.” 

Mrs. West never scrambled into her clothes so 


68 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


quickly as on this Easter morning,, and she ate her 
breakfast in ten minutes. Ann flew around as if she 
were a young bird instead of a middle-aged woman. 
Evelyn’s mother heard her say her Sunday School 
lesson in a great hurry; and, as Jim was not at 
home to go to Sunday School with her, she told her 
to stop and walk along with Nancy and her mother 
— for it was not safe for her to cross the streets alone. 
So a breathless little girl arrived at Nancy’s house. 

Mrs. Merrifield came to the door herself. “What 
brings you around so bright and early.?” she asked. 

“To go to Sunday School with you and Nancy, 
’cause Jim’s at David’s. Mother said I was late.” 

“No, you are early. You can play with Nancy imtil 
it’s time to go.” 

Mrs. West, meanwhile, was getting ready for 
church, and as all her clocks were an hour too fast 
she got there just after Sunday School had begun. 
She was surprised to find Sunday School was still in 
session, for she thought she was late to church. The 
children were singing “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” 
as she came in, and when that was over, Emily Wain- 
wright, who was in a class at the back of the church, 
made Mrs. West come and sit near her. “How nice 
you could come to our Easter Sunday School service,” 
she said. 

“You were n’t late, were you, mother.?” Jim said, 
as he was walking home from church with his mother 
and Evelyn. 


THE CLOCKS THAT MISBEHAVED 


69 


‘‘I should say not. I can’t think what Ann did to 
our clocks. They were all about an hour too fast.” 

Jim, who was holding one of her hands, gave a sus- 
picious wriggle. His face grew very red. 

“Did she fix them.^^” he asked. 

“Yes, I told her to,” said Mrs. West, a light dawn- 
ing upon her. “Did you put them forward, too, Jim.^^ ” 

“Yes,” he faltered. 

“But no one told you to.” 

“Father said, ‘Don’t let your mother forget the 
clocks,’ and I thought you had.” 

“I see. You didn’t happen to remember he told 
you never to touch the clocks.” 

“I thought it was a ‘special occasion.’” 

“I guess you thought it would be fun to fix the 
clocks,” said Evelyn. 

“Oh, cut it out!” said Jim. 

“I’ve no doubt you’d have done the same thing, 
Evelyn, if you ’d had the chance,” said his mother. 

“Yes, I would,” the honest little girl said. 

It is not so easy undoing mischief as doing it. The 
clocks all had to be stopped for an hour, and the 
striking part of the hall clock was wrong, because 
Jim had moved the hour-hand instead of the minute- 
hand. And there was not another egg-glass with sand 
in it to be found. And the smooch would n’t come off 
the chair, so it would have to be recovered. The cat 
had discovered Mrs. West’s knitting on the table 
and had got hold of the ball and pulled it all over the 


70 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


floor, getting the yarn tangled around the legs of the 
table. Ann, on account of the clocks, had got to 
church an hour too early, and finding the doors closed, 
she had to wait at the drug store around the corner. 
This made her so cross that she did n’t half enjoy 
the day off that Mrs. West had given her. 

Jim felt very much ashamed of himself when he 
found how much trouble he had made. He looked so 
unhappy that Catherine was very good-natured about 
the egg-glass. And when his mother saw how miser- 
able he was she said the chair was faded and needed 
a new cover anyway, and that she ought to have put 
her knitting in her knitting-bag. They were both so 
generous that Jim felt sorrier than ever for the mis- 
chief he had done. But Ann was not kind. She said 
she could never see why there had to be boys at all 
in the world. “Men are not so bad,” said Ann, “but 
boys are the most mischievous, annoying creatures 
on the face of this earth.” 


VIII 

The French Orphan 

T he first letter from the children’s Aunt Hilda 
had come in February. How they had waited 
and watched every day for the postman! They had 
expected a letter long before it was time to get one, 
and finally Evelyn gave up asking, but Jim never 
forgot. If he was in the house he would hang around 
until the postman came, and then he would say, 
“Got any mail.^” in an indifferent way, just as if he 
did n’t care whether there was a letter from France 
or not. 

The first letter was a great excitement, and after 
they once began to come, they would come in 
bunches, two or three together; then there would be 
silence for two or three weeks. 

A few weeks after Easter, Jim had a long, beauti- 
ful letter from Aunt Hilda, all to himself. He took it 
as if he did n’t care about it at all. There was one for 
each of the family, for she had hoped the letters would 
reach them for Easter. 

Evelyn skipped about the room with her letter. 
“Have you got one, too, Jim.^” she asked. 

“Yes, I’ve got one.” 

The letters were all very different, but Evelyn 


72 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


thought hers was the best of all, because it told about 
the French orphan whom the children were helping 
support with the money they had given Aunt Hilda 
before she went away. 

“Such a dear little girl as she is,” she wrote. “Her 
name is Elise, and she is eleven years old. She has a 
httle sister Marie, who is only five. I must tell you 
how, when Marie got the paper dolls and the paper 
doll furniture you sent me to give to some little girl, 
she skipped about the room, just as you would do; 
and I think the hearts of little girls are not so very 
different, whether they are French or American. 
They may wear different clothes and speak a different 
tongue, but they, too, are little mothers. It is sad 
that their father was killed, but their mother is 
brave, and the money you have sent helps her very 
much.” 

In Jim’s letter she said, “I have often thought of 
that last talk we had the night before I came away, 
and I feel sure you are doing your bit, far back of the 
firing line, by trying to be a boy that I shall be proud 
of when I come home. They feel America is a great 
nation over here, because we came to their help; and 
I want the boys who are young now, and who I hope 
will find peace in the world, and not war, when they 
grow up, to learn to take their part and help the world 
in peaceful ways.” 

Jim thought about the clocks, and again he felt 
thoroughly ashamed of himself. 


THE FRENCH ORPHAN 


73 


In his mother’s letter, Aunt Hilda had enclosed a 
letter all in French from the elder of the two orphans, 
Elise. 

The children were so pleased to hear from a real 
French orphan that they begged their mother to 
read the letter to them at once. She had to translate 
it, because Evelyn knew no French at all, and Jim 
knew only a few words. It began: 

Chere Bienfaitrice — Jim was sure this meant 
“dear benefactress,” and it did — I thank you very 
sincerely for the gift that has been sent me on your 
part. I shall never forget this benefaction, and I shall 
always be grateful to you for it. I am a little girl 
eleven years old. I live with my mamma and my Httle 
sister Marie, who is five years old, in a pretty town 
near Rouen. Rouen is, as you already know, one of 
the most beautiful towns in France. My papa fell 
on the field of honor at the beginning of the war. He 
was killed the 9th of October, 1914. He was thirty- 
five years old, and he was a blacksmith. He was a 
very good workman, and a good father, happy in 
working to bring up Marie and me. My little sister 
was so very little when the war began, she cannot 
have, like me, the happiness of having known our 
papa. We will teach her later, my mamma and I, to 
love him, when she will learn the glorious death he 
had, and she will be proud, also. I go regularly to a 
class, where I apply myself dihgently on account of 


74 


THE STKANGE YEAR 


the memory of my father, and, also, to give my 
mother pleasure, at the Benefaction of the Orphans 
of the War. It is there I have seen the American, 
Miss Hilda, your well beloved sister. 

Receive, dear benefactress, the expression of my 
tenderest friendship, and thank all the children who 
have so generously remembered me and my little 
sister. I hope I may have letters from all who are old 
enough to hold the pen. 

With profound gratitude 

Elise Chevalier 

think you children had better each write a 
letter in English to Elise,” said Mrs. West, “and 
Aunt Hilda can translate them, and we’ll send the 
letter to the other children so they can answer it, too, 
if they like.” 

Evelyn could not write very well, but she insisted 
on writing all her own self, and not dictating. This 
was what she wrote: 

Dear Littel French Orfan, 

I love you. I am so sorry your papa is dead. Mine 
is alive, and so is my mama. Our town is pretty, and 
is not so very far from Boston, of which you have 
heard. My school is nice, too, and I apply myself, 
because my father and mother wish it. 

With profound gratitude 


Evelyn West. 


THE FRENCH ORPHAN 


75 


Tell Aunt Hilda I miss her very much and wish 
she would come home. Hector and Tim send her 
the expressions of their tenderest friendship. They 
are our cat and dog. Have you any annimuls? 

“There! That is so much like her letter she’ll think 
I ’m French, if you could only put it into French. 
Can’t you, mother.^” asked Evelyn. 

“I am not a very good French scholar. We won’t 
send the letter off until Sophia’s mother comes. They 
are expecting her this week. She went to a school in 
France, and she can put your letter into the best of 
French.” 

Jim was so pleased with the letter he had written 
that he wanted to send it off at once. “How is this?” 
and he held up a sheet of paper with soldiers in khaki 
on it, as well as a khaki-colored dog. 

“if 2/ Alize'^ he had written. 

“That isn’t the way to spell her name,” said 
Lottie. “It’s Elise.” 

“Oh, bother! I can’t change it now. It’s my way 
of spelling. She’ll think it the American way.” 

“The American name is Eliza,” said Lottie. 

“Oh, cut it out! I won’t show you my letter.” 

“Please do. She won’t mind how you spell her 
name.” 

“That’s just what I said.” 

my dear Alize, I’m sorry your father was killed in 
the war. Mine is too old to go. He wanted to most 


76 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


orfully, when we went in, and so did I. But I’m very 
young. I could n’t go, even if the war keeps on six 
years, as Mr. Merrifield says it may. He’s our min- 
ister. The brown dog in the picture is the same kind 
of dog we have. His name is Hector. Our dog ’s name 
is, I mean. We have a cat, too. His name is Tim. 
Have you any animals.^ You only spoke of your sister. 
I’m glad you like Aunt Hilda. She is my favorite 
aunt. I have two others, but they are my father’s 
aunts, and my great-aunts, so they are very old. I 
have a sister. She is younger than me, same as your 
sister is younger than you. Her name is Evelyn. She ’s 
going to write to you; and so is my Cousin Lottie, 
she’s thirteen; and so is David going to write, he’s 
my best friend; and Charley Norcross, he ’s my second 
best friend; and so is Nancy, she’s my sister’s best 
friend; and so is Sophia Lane, she’s her second best 
friend. She’s lame, not my sister — she’s as spry as 
a cricket — it ’s Sophia who is lame. She lives with 
her three aunts, and her father has gone to France to 
fight. Maybe you’ll see him. He’s a loutennant. His 
name is Curtis B. Lane. We live in a fine town, and 
my father has just got a Dodge car, and he’s lurning 
to drive. So is my mother, but they won’t let me 
touch it. I’d like to lurn too. It looks easy. 

Your friend, Jim (James West, jr.). 

Tell Aunt Hilda I want her to come home soon. 
We knead het. J. W. 


THE FRENCH ORPHAN 


77 


“I don’t see what you’re laughing at,” said Jim, 
as his cousin handed him back the letter. “I think 
it’s a corker myself. I never wrote such a long one 
before.” 

“You say you are going to knead Aunt Hilda, just 
as if she were bread,” said Lottie. 


IX 

Cousin Sue 

C OUSIN SUE is really coming here some day 
this week/’ said Emily Wainwright. 

“Who on earth is ‘Cousin Sue’?” asked Lottie. 

“ Sophia’s mother.” 

“I don’t see why you call her ‘Cousin Sue,’ when 
you call the others ‘aunt.’ ” 

“But she’s so different. You just couldn’t call 
her ‘aunt.’ And anyway, as they are n’t any of them 
my real relations, I can call them what I please.” 

Emily was walking home from school with Lottie. 
It was the day after Lottie had come back from the 
farm, and Emily was coming home with her to 
dinner. They were still talking about Sophia’s mo- 
ther when they came into the house. 

“I know I shan’t like her,” said Lottie. “I can’t 
like any mother who’d leave her little lame girl for 
four long months.” 

“But she is a wife as well as a mother,” said Emily, 
with a grown-up air. “And it’s war-times — that’s 
what mother says. The camp is ’way, ’way down 
south, and she kept expecting he was going to sail 
and he did n’t.” 

“I’m sure she is n’t any good,” said Evelyn. 


COUSIN SUE 


79 


“What do you know about it?” Jim asked. 

“Because she forgot to pack up Sophia’s dolls. 
Any one who could forget a thing like that is a pretty 
poor kind of mother, I should say.” 

“If you don’t beat the Dutch!” said Jim. 

“She’s just splendid,” said Emily. “You wait and 
see. She’s been running a canteen at the camp and 
doing Red Cross work and taking sick soldiers out 
in an automobile. When it’s war-time, and you’ve 
got important things like that on hand, it’s no won- 
der you forget to pack up dolls.” 

“Dolls are Sophia’s children,” Evelyn reasoned. 
“They are as important to her as you and David and 
Richmond and Ben and Ted are to your mother. 
What would you think of her if she forgot all about 
you?” 

“That’s very different,” said Emily; “Sophia’s 
dolls are not Cousin Sue’s children.” 

They were still talking about Cousin Sue when 
they went in to dinner. And when Lottie went up to 
amuse Sophia, that afternoon, her mind was full of 
the subject. “So your mother is coming?” she said 
to the little girl. 

“Yes,” said the child. Her sad little face bright- 
ened up and her dark eyes were shining. Poor little 
Sophia had never got over missing her mother. And 
every week, when her Aunt Emily wound the clocks, 
on Sunday morning, she had thought, “Perhaps 
mother will come before she winds them again.” She 


80 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


thought the war was terrible, because it took fathers 
and mothers away from little girls. But she felt so 
unhappy that she could not tell any one about it, 
not even Lottie. She had grown very fond of Lottie, 
and if she could have told any one, she could have 
told her. 

When Lottie saw Sophia’s face light up, she thought 
probably a poor mother was better than no mother 
at all. She could not remember her own mother. 

Thursday afternoon, when Lottie went to Sophia, 
she saw two expressmen carrying a huge wardrobe 
trunk along the path that led to the Lanes’ front 
door. So Mrs. Lane had come at last! Her heart 
gave a queer little jump, and she felt “scared to 
death,” as she expressed it, at the idea of meeting 
her. 

Miss Emily opened the front door and she said, 
“You can take that trunk upstairs to the room at 
the left.” 

“We’ve orders to leave these trunks on the first 
floor,” said the man grufl3y. 

“But how perfectly preposterous!” said Miss 
Emily. “We’ve no place for it on the first floor.” 

“We’ve orders,” said the man shortly. “I’ll leave 
it on the porch if you like.” 

“Certainly not,” said Miss Emily. “But it’s un- 
reasonable to refuse to take a trunk upstairs. I’ll 
pay you an extra quarter.” 

“If you gave us each a Liberty Bond, we could n’t 


COUSIN SUE 


81 


disobey orders,” said the other man. “Ladies who 
travel in war-time can’t expect a cinch.” 

“It’ll have to stay here for to-night,” said Miss 
Emily, opening the door into the parlor. It seemed 
strange that a war that was going on three thousand 
miles away should affect every detail of life in 
America. 

The wardrobe trunk made Lottie all the more 
afraid of meeting Mrs. Lane. As she came in at the 
front door she saw somebody who looked like a young 
girl, coming to the head of the stairs. “Who is that.^” 
thought Lottie. The girl’s dresses were almost as 
short as her own. She was plump and trig, and her 
jacket fitted beautifully. Her hat was put on jauntily, 
and her black hair was pulled down over her ears. 
When Lottie came a little nearer she saw she was not 
as young as she first thought. Could this — could 
this young lady, with a face as frank as that of a 
smiling boy, be Sophia’s mother.^ It must be so, for 
she had hair and eyes like Sophia. 

“I’m terribly glad to see you,” said the young 
lady, in a deep, cordial voice. “You must be Lottie 
West. I’ve heard all about you from Sophia. I’m her 
mother — and a pretty poor kind of mother, too, to 
neglect my little girl so long! But I’ve been looking 
out for other women’s sons, and for my husband. 
Here’s the money for the trunk, Emily.” 

When she saw her wardrobe trunk standing in the 
middle of her sister-in-law’s stiff parlor, she laughed 


82 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


and laughed. She cut short Miss Emily’s apologies 
and her regret that they could n’t get any men to 
move it until the next morning. 

“Never mind; I’ll carry all the important things 
upstairs — Sophia’s dolls, for instance.” 

Lottie saw there was no need of her that afternoon, 
and she offered to go home; but Mrs. Lane said, 
genially: “I have n’t come back to break up people’s 
engagements. But, as I only came last night, we’ll 
all play together, just this one time.” She held Sophia 
in her arms, while Lottie read aloud from “Alice’s 
Adventures in Wonderland,” and she praised her 
reading. And all the time, Sophia’s dark little head 
was pressed close against her mother, and her small 
hand was clinging tight to her mother’s plump one, 
as if she feared she would escape if she let go. 

Lottie asked Mrs. Lane if she would be willing to 
translate the children’s letters to the orphan into 
French. 

“That’s a delightful plan,” said Mrs. Lane. And 
she asked Lottie to bring Jim and Evelyn to see her 
Saturday afternoon. 

Lottie asked if Emily, David, Charley, and Nancy 
could come too, for they had all given Cousin Hilda 
money for the orphans. 

And she said: “Bless your dear heart, yes. The 
more the merrier.” 

“I’m afraid so many children will tire Sophia,” 
said Miss Emily. 


COUSIN SUE 


83 


“Bless your dear heart, no,” said Sophia’s mother. 
“We’ll all go out on the upper side piazza, and then 
we won’t bother anybody.” 

Saturday was a beautiful day, but on account of 
the east wind Miss Emily feared it would be too 
chilly on the upper piazza for Sophia. 

“No, indeed,” said her mother briskly; “what she 
needs now the spring has come is plenty of fresh air. 
Hop along with your cane. Chicken Little. That is 
famous. You’ll soon be well again. You are a credit 
to the good doctor and your good aunts.” 

“I think she’s most of all a credit to her good 
mother,” said Miss Gertrude shyly. “She’s bright- 
ened up amazingly since you came.” 

The aunts were all greatly interested in making the 
afternoon a success. Miss Gertrude gave them some 
note-paper, with a colored picture at the head of each 
sheet, on which the letters were to be copied in 
French. Miss Emily had a prize ready for the child 
who wrote the best letter; and Miss Molly sug- 
gested a treat in the shape of gingerbread and 
lemonade. The only trouble was they were almost 
without sugar. 

“I’ll get the sugar,” said Mrs. Lane; “I am sure 
I can get somebody to sell me some.” 

It was a happy group of children who assembled 
on the piazza that Saturday afternoon. Mrs. Lane 
greeted Emily and David, whom she knew already, 
and then she said, “Now I’m going to see if I can 


84 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


tell which is Evelyn and which is Nancy.” She 
guessed right, and the little girls both smiled. 

“Now, I’ll see if I can tell which is Jim and which 
is Charley.” She guessed wrong, and neither of the 
boys looked at all pleased, but Jim fairly scowled. 

“Now, I’ll tell you my name,” she said. “It’s a 
strange name, but I rather hke it, because I don’t 
know any one else who has it. My name is Susanna. 
It’s rather long, so you can all call me ‘Cousin Sue,’ 
if you like, just as Emily and David do.” 

“That will be very nice,” said Lottie. 

“I don’t want to,” said Jim. “You are not my 
cousin.” 

“Oh, very well,” she said, taken a little aback; 
“you can call me what you like.” 

“I’d hke to call you ‘Cousin Sue,’” said Charley. 

“And you’ll call me ‘Cousin Sue,’ won’t you, 
dear? ” and she looked at Nancy. 

“Yes, I will.” 

“And how about you?” and she turned to Evelyn. 

“I can’t call you ‘Cousin Sue’ if Jim doesn’t, 
because we have the same relations. Can I call you 
‘Mrs. Sue’?” 

“Bless your dear heart, yes.” 

Evelyn had brought her letter along to be trans- 
lated, but as Jim had sent his, he wrote a new one; 
and each of the others wrote one. 

When the letters were finished, Mrs. Lane said: 
“I’ll read them all aloud, and you can each vote for 


COUSIN SUE 


85 


the one you think is the best. And the one who gets 
the most votes will have the prize.” 

She opened a small, long box that had been on the 
table all the time, and in it were three pencils. One 
was red, white, and blue, with a black lead; the other 
was red with a red lead; and the third blue with a blue 
lead. The younger children were all very anxious to 
get the prize. Each child had a piece of paper on which 
to write the name of the boy or girl who wrote the 
best letter. There was great excitement when she 
sorted out the votes. There was somebody who had 
three votes. Who could the lucky person be.^ 

“Here is one vote for Jim,” she said, “and one for 
Sophia and one for Evelyn and one for Charley and 
one for David; and one, two, three, for Nancy. Nancy 
has got the prize.” 

Nancy looked very much surprised. “But Eve- 
lyn’s was better than mine,” said she. Nancy saw 
with what longing eyes Evelyn was looking at the 
pencils. She could not let her choose which she would 
take because she was afraid she would take the red, 
white, and blue one; and she wanted that herself; 
for she had never had a red, white, and blue pencil 
in her life. But it seemed selfish to keep three when 
her letter had been so poor. She handed the blue pen- 
cil to Evelyn, who looked very much pleased. Then 
she saw Sophia’s wistful little face, and there seemed 
nothing else to do but to hand the red one to her. 
Your letter was so nice,” she said. 


86 THE STRANGE YEAR 

This is the letter that took the prize. 

My dear little French older sister across the sea. 

My father says the French are our brothers and 
sisters. I have n’t any real ones, for I am an only 
child. My name is Nancy Merrifield. My father is a 
preacher. He preached about how soldiers should give 
their lives for a great cause, and we should all give 
what we could, and he gave so much of his coal away 
that we all had to go and live with the Wests for a 
few weeks. I hked it because Evelyn West is my best 
friend. 

Have you a garden.? We have one, and it has 
crocuses in it and snow-drops, and by and by, there 
will be the pretty flowers with a French name, fleur- 
de-hs. I love the spring. My father is going to let 
people plant cabbages and potatoes in our yard. My 
mother thinks they will look very funny, but he says 
he wants to help all he can. He can’t go to preach to 
soldiers in the trenches, because he has a weak heart. 
Sophia’s father has gone to fight, but Evelyn’s father 
is too old to go. 

Little French older sister, I thought your letter 
was dear. I love France. I love England, too, and 
America the best of all. 

Your loving little friend, 

Nancy Merrifield. 

We have a cat and his name is Ginger. He is big and 
yellow. I hope you like the bluebird on my paper. Wheu 


COUSIN SUE 


87 


I was at Evelyn’s house we fed the birds every morn- 
ing. And blue jays came and sparrows and chicka- 
dees and crows and pigeons and some squirrels. 

At the end of the afternoon they had the feast of 
gingerbread and lemonade. Mrs. Lane told them how 
the grocer had said he hadn’t any sugar. “‘I’m so 
sorry,’ I said. Then I told him how my husband had 
gone to France to fight. ‘I wanted to go over to do 
canteen work,’ said I, ‘but they would n’t let me go 
because he was going.’ And it did seem too bad that 
when I hated to stay behind I could n’t have a 
teenty-tinety bit of sugar, just to flavor the lemon- 
ade for some children who had sent money to the 
French orphans. ‘Maybe you have heard of my 
husband.^’ said I. ‘He’s Lieutenant Curtis B. Lane.’ 
‘I used to go to grammar school with him,’ said the 
man. So we had a grand talk, and he is going to get 
me a chance to do some war work. And when I left he 
said, ‘Mrs. Lane, I’m proud to give you some sugar,’ 
and he would n’t let me pay for it. So if you come 
some other Saturday we can have lemonade again.” 

Then Mrs. Lane brought out tiny red, white, and 
blue metal flags, in the shape of pins. She pinned one 
on the frock of each of the girls and on the jackets of 
the boys. “We’ll be the Red, White, and Blue Club,” 
she said; “and we’ll meet again next Saturday.” 


The Red^ White, and Blue Club 

I AM going to spend next week canvassing a dis- 
trict to get people to promise to buy Thrift Stamps 
and Thrift Certificates,” said Mrs. Lane briskly to 
the children one Saturday afternoon. 

It was a full meeting of the Red, White, and Blue 
Club; every child was there. It was such a warm af- 
ternoon that Mrs. Lane had taken them all out into 
the side yard. She had placed eight chairs in a ring, 
and one for herself in the center, in the little hollow 
where there had been ice some months before, when 
Evelyn and Prue had made believe skate. Now the 
grass was green and the sky was blue, and a squirrel 
was in the branches of one of the maple trees, cocking 
his saucy head and trailing along his tail like a plume. 
A robin redbreast hopped along over the grass, and 
some sparrows lighted on a fence rail. There were 
some red tulips in bud in the tulip bed, and two were 
in full blossom. So the red tulips and the white 
clouds and the blue sky made red, white,, and blue. 
Everything seemed so joyous that the children could 
not keep still. 

“I did the best work of any of the women in the 
Liberty Loan campaign,” said Mrs. Lane, “so I should 


THE RED, WHITE, AND BLUE CLUB 89 

think they might let me off from this Thrift Stamp 
business. But they did not see it in that light. And it 
is n’t for Lieutenant Lane’s wife to shirk. If he can 
go to the front, I guess I can sell Thrift Stamps. But 
I expect you children to help me out. Will you each 
of you promise to fill a Thrift Stamp card before 
January first That will only mean earning fifty 
cents a month.” 

“But I’ve got one already,” said Evelyn. “Mother 
gave me one the first of January, with one stamp on 
it; and I’ve only earned one more in all this time. I 
put it in upside down. Was n’t that too bad.? But 
mother said the President would n’t mind. I earned 
some of it by — ” 

“Nobody cares how you earned it,” said Jim. 
“I have a card too that mother gave me, and mine is 
most half full, and I put all of my stamps in straight 
as straight.” 

“ Who cares how you put in your old stamps.? ” said 
Charley. He was not so lucky as to have had a Thrift 
Stamp card given him. 

“Now, children, there is no need of your making 
disagreeable remarks to each other,” said Cousin Sue. 
“I’m sure I for one am very glad Jim put in his 
stamps straight; and I am just crazy to know how 
Evelyn earned her twenty-five cents. But first we 
must find out what you will all promise to do. How 
many more of you have cards already?” It seemed 
they all had them, except Charley and Sophia. 


90 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


“To think my own chick has n’t one, and I am try- 
ing to make other people’s children take them,” said 
Cousin Sue. “That’s a joke on me, is n’t it.^ Well, if 
most of you have them, I think the best thing we can 
do is to have a club card. We’ll have to get sixteen 
stamps before we can exchange it for one of those 
beautiful big Thrift Certificates.” She held one up as 
she spoke. “Now, as there are eight of you, and one 
of me, I ’ll make this promise : As fast as you fill this 
card. I’ll fill a second, so at the end of the year we’ll 
have two of these big stamps that will belong to the 
Red, White, and Blue Club.” 

She made it sound so interesting that the children 
readily promised to do their part. 

“Now, ideas are in order,” said Cousin Sue. “It is 
quite enough for me to have sent my husband to the 
front. To be sure he would go; I did n’t exactly send 
him. Well, anyway, he’s gone, and I am at home 
selling Thrift Stamps; and that is enough for one 
poor woman to do. So now, you ’ ve got to furnish the 
ideas. How shall we earn the money 

“Jim and I earned a lot of money for the French 
orphans last year by selling fruit,” said Charley. 

At the mention of this business project, Jim grew 
very red, for his family had not approved of his 
picking all the grapes without leave. 

“Let’s have an afternoon tea out here under the 
trees,” said Emily. “We can have Thrift Stamps for 
sale, as well as tea.” 


THE RED, WHITE, AND BLUE CLUB 91 

“That will be lovely,” said Lottie; “and we’ll 
dress up in those old silk and satin dresses the Miss 
Lanes have up in the attic, where the dolls are; and 
we’ll wear those funny straw bonnets.” 

“Good enough,” said Cousin Sue; “that is a grand 
idea. We’ll bring all the dolls down; and we’ll make 
a sign and put it up over the summer house door, 
‘Do you love Liberty.^ Buy a Thrift Stamp. Do you 
love Tea? Buy a cup in memory of the famous Tea 
Party in Revolutionary days that brought lis Lib- 
erty.’ Lottie can paint the sign.” 

“I never could paint all that,” said Lottie. 

“Well, you can make any kind of a sign you like.” 

“I think I’ll make one big T,” said Lottie, “and 
have it do for both: 

T ea and 

HRIFT STAMPS 

“Can’t we have things to sell?” said Evelyn. 
“Bless your dear heart, yes.” 

“Let’s have it a dolls’ fair,” said Nancy, “with 
dolls’ hats and dolls’ sweaters and dolls’ mufflers for 
sale. I’ll make some dolls’ mufflers.” 

“A dolls’ fair would n’t be any fun at all,” said Jim. 
“Now, you boys needn’t come to our fair,” said 
Cousin Sue. “You can earn your money some other 
way if you choose. We’ve all got to do what we can. 
Nancy and Evelyn and Sophia can knit dolls’ mufflers, 
Emily will knit some dolls’ sweaters, and Lottie can 


92 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


trim some dolls’ hats. I’ll make the tea and lemon- 
ade and take charge of the tea-table and you boys 
need n’t come near the place. We can get along with- 
out you perfectly well. Indeed, I don’t see what there 
is for you to do, anyhow.” 

“We might have ice-cream,” Charley suggested. 
“I’ll turn the freezer.” 

“Ice-cream would be too expensive and too much 
trouble.” 

“We can sweep out the summer house and bring 
out chairs and run errands,” said David, who had no 
idea of losing the fun. 

“That is true. And I could make you business 
manager and give you the Thrift Stamps to sell. We 
don’t really need more than one boy. Jim and Char- 
ley can be free to do something else.” 

“Oh, mother, they w’ant to come,” said Sophia. 

“If they want to come, that is all very well. It 
would be a pity not to have all of the Red, White, 
and Blue Club take part.” 

The children had never been so busy as they were 
in the next two weeks. Evelyn and Nancy sat with 
their knitting whenever they met, like two old 
women instead of two very small girls. Sophia, who 
was the most practiced knitter of the three, worked 
so hard that her mother finally said: “Chicken 
Little, if you make so many more mufflers than 
Nancy and Evelyn do, what will they say to you? 
Your poor little hands will get tired out,” 


THE RED, WHITE, AND BLUE CLUB 93 

One afternoon Nancy and Evelyn brought their 
knitting down to Sophia’s house. Evelyn was mak- 
ing a blue doll’s muffler and Nancy a pink one and 
Sophia a red one. 

“Let’s play we are grown-up ladies,” said Evelyn. 

“That will be splendid,” said Sophia. 

“I’ll just have to buy that pink muffler for my 
Matilda, Mrs. Nancy Merrifield,” Evelyn said. 
“Will it be very ’spensive.^” 

“Very, Mrs. Evelyn West,” said Nancy; “it is to 
be sold at a grand big fair. I think it will be seventy- 
nine cents, for the materials cost a lot.” 

“ Seventy -nine cents! You don’t mean it, Mrs. 
Nancy Merrifield. That is too much for me to pay. 
I am a poor woman.” 

“Are you a widow woman — a widow? I mean,” 
Nancy asked with interest. 

“No, not a widow. I’m an army lady. My hus- 
band ’s gone to fly. Don’t you think flying is the nice- 
est thing a man can do, Mrs. Nancy Merrifield?” 

“I like boats better,” said Nancy. “My husband 
is in the Navy. He’s on a big, big boat. I guess it’s 
a submarine, but I ’m not sure.” 

“I’m a widow,” Sophia announced, “but I’ve got 
a father, and he’s gone to the front in France.” 

“My father made the Liberty Loan go over the 
top in this town,” said Evelyn proudly. 

“And mine has preached that everybody is to do 
what he can,” said Nancy. 


94 


THE STRANGE YEAR 

“My mother has done a lot/’ said Sophia. “She 
was the best Liberty Loan lady, and she fed 
soldiers at camp, and drove them out.” 

“My mother does Red Cross work all the time,” 
said Nancy. “She works and works and stitches and 
stitches and tells other people how to do it, and 
works and works again, till the dark night comes.” 

“What does your mother do, Mrs. Evelyn West.^” 
Sophia asked. 

Evelyn paused to think. “She’s the dearest 
mother, and she’s always there when you want her.” 

“Did she sell Liberty Bonds?” Sophia asked with 
interest. 

“No; father did that. He said it was a man’s work.” 

“Does she do Red Cross work?” asked Sophia. 

Evelyn felt as if the honor of the family were at 
stake. “Yes, she goes away one morning a week 
while I am at school. She makes lovely sweaters for 
the soldiers,” Evelyn recollected, “and she’s just 
too dear for anything; is n’t she, Nancy?” 

“I think she’s very dear,” said Sophia. “But 
mother says she ought to take a district and sell Thrift 
Stamps.” 

Unfortunately the Miss Lanes could not be per- 
suaded to let the children wear the old brocade and 
satin dresses that were in the trunk in the attic. 
Mrs. Lane suggested that they should wear costumes 
made out of crepe paper. “You girls can be red, 
white, and blue flowers,” she said. So Sophia was a 


THE RED, WHITE, AND BLUE CLUB 95 

scarlet poppy, and the dress and cap were very be- 
coming to her dark hair and eyes. Nancy was all in 
white, like a lily; and Evelyn was a blue corn-flower, 
Emily was a red tuhp, and Lottie a white chrysan- 
themum. 

When the day of the Thrift Stamp Sale came it 
was a blue and cloudless one. Although Mrs. West 
refused to go about the town asking people to promise 
to take Thrift Stamps, she was quite ready to help 
out at the Sale; and she sat at a little table in the 
Lanes’ summer house, with a big box of Thrift 
Stamps by her side, and a smaller one with a few 
Thrift Certificates in it, and a box for the money. 
Evelyn thought her mother was the prettiest person 
in the whole world, in her dainty spring frock and 
her shady hat with ostrich plumes. Other people 
seemed to like her looks too, for all the grown people 
went into the summer house to talk to her. And no- 
body came out without buying at least one Thrift 
Stamp. 

David looked very grand as George Washington, 
in a blue coat and white knee-breeches; and Charley 
frisked about as Uncle Sam, dressed in a blue coat, 
and red-and-white striped trousers. A Thrift Stamp 
decorated the left-hand side of his coat; and he came 
up to each person, who arrived and said, “Buy a 
Thrift Stamp; buy two, three, or four Thrift Stamps, 
so as to help out your poor old Uncle Sam.” 

Jim was very envious of David and Charley, but 


96 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


he had hung back so, that he had to be content with 
taking the part of Lafayette, which was given him 
because of his longing to go to France. He had the 
red, white, and blue tricolor in his cocked hat, and 
he rejoiced in a scarlet waistcoat, a blue coat, and 
white knee-breeches. 

“I won’t vouch for the costumes being historically 
correct,” said Mrs. Lane, “ but they are patriotic 
and carry out the idea of the Red, White, and Blue 
Club.” 

Evelyn had persuaded her father to come to the 
Sale and when he appeared she seized him by the 
hand and took him to the dolls’ table. 

“Father, I’m a blue corn-flower,” said Evelyn, 
“and Nancy’s a lily. Doesn’t she look sweet. And 
is n’t Sophia too dear for anything.? She’s a poppy.” 

Emily Wainwright was selling the articles at the 
dolls’ table with Nancy’s help, while Miss Emily 
Lane took charge of the money. 

“Father,” said Evelyn, “see that lovely pink muf- 
fler that Nancy knit; I want it for Matilda. Would n’t 
you like to buy it for a birthday present for her?” 

“When is her birthday?” 

Evelyn hesitated. “To-morrow.” 

“I thought she had a birthday last week.” 

“I dare say she did,” said Evelyn; “my children’s 
birthdays come so often I can never keep track of 
them.” 

The mufflers were fifteen cents apiece or two for a 


THE RED, WHITE, AND BLUE CLUB 97 


quarter, but Mr. West handed the little saleswoman 
half a dollar, and he refused to let Miss Lane give 
him any change. 

“Come over here. Cousin James, and have a cup 
of tea,” Lottie called out. “I’m sure you want a cup 
of tea with two lumps of sugar in it.” 

“Father wants to buy a doll’s hat first. Sophia’s 
child, Amy, is very much in need of a hat. Her grand- 
mother has been so busy about war things she has n’t 
had time to make her any decent clothes.” 

Mr. West stood with two tiny hats under consid- 
eration; one was trimmed with a red scarf, the other 
with a wreath of violets. 

“Get the one with the red scarf,” Evelyn advised. 
“Sophia loves red.” 

Mr. West had thought it would be a great bore to 
come to the children’s Sale, but he changed his mind 
when he saw how much bliss a doll’s hat could give a 
little girl. Sophia was sitting at the tea-table with her 
mother and Lottie. She had charge of the plates of 
oatmeal wafers and crackers. When Mr. West handed 
the hat to Sophia, in her scarlet poppy costume, she 
looked up in delight. 

“For me.f^” she asked. 

“It is for a person named Amy. Perhaps you don’t 
know any such person.” 

“Oh, thank you, yes, I do.” 

“How much are your oatmeal wafers?” he asked 
the childt 


98 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


. ^ 

“They are two cents apiece for children/’ she said 
shyly, “and anything grown-up people like to pay. 
You can have them for two cents apiece,” she has- 
tened to add. 

“I’m glad you consider me a child,” he said. “I’ll 
take five, and I’ll give you a quarter for them.” 

“You can’t have so many. Cousin James,” said 
Lottie. “We have hardly enough to go round. We 
did n’t know so many people were coming. You can 
have all the crackers you like; we’ve got boxes and 
boxes of them.” 

“I can get all the crackers I like at home,” he said. 
“I’m bored to death with crackers. Give me a cup of 
tea, Lottie. I’m going to have at least three of these 
wafers if the skies fall. The other people should have 
come sooner.” 

He sipped his cup of tea slowly and ate his oatmeal 
wafers with satisfaction. 

“I’m glad you like them,” said Lottie, “for I made 
them — at least, I made one batch, and Miss Molly 
another.” 

He handed her a dollar. 

“Mrs. Lane will give you the change,” she said. 

“I don’t want any change. Do you suppose I came 
to this Sale to bother waiting round for change.^” 

“Buy a Thrift Stamp, buy a Thrift Stamp,” 
Charley said, dancing up to him. “Are n’t you Mr. 
West, the great lawyer Uncle Sam asked in an 
affected voice. “I’ve heard of you in Washington as 


THE RED, WHITE, AND BLUE CLUB 99 

a great one to hand out the cash. Perhaps you’ll buy 
a few Thrift Certificates. Mrs. West has them in 
charge.” 

Then Jim came up to him solemnly. “I’m the 
Marquis de Lafayette,” he stated. 

“I’m glad to meet you, sir,” said Mr. West, hold- 
ing out his hand. “How do you like this country. 
Marquis 

“Gee!” Jim said with a grin, “I’d like to be in 
France.” 

Mr. West went into the summer house to get some 
Thrift Stamps and have a talk with his wife. She was 
surrounded by a group of people; Judge Baxter, Mr. 
Merrifield, Dr. and Mrs. Wainwright were all there. 

“I’m not going to ask you to buy a single Thrift 
Stamp, much less a Certificate, James,” she said. 
“Judge Baxter has been kind enough to buy two of 
my Thrift Certificates.” 

“I’m glad he has. My funds are very low. I’ve just 
bought a muffler and a hat.” 

Nevertheless, he had money enough left to make 
a great hole in her supply of Thrift Stamps. He gave 
one to each of the eight children in the Red, White, 
and Blue Club, and he kept some for the home cards 
of his own family. Other people were generous, too, 
and when the money was counted up and expenses 
taken out, they found that, without counting the 
large number of Thrift Stamps and Certificates that 
Mrs. West had sold, they themselves, by the sale of 


100 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


the fancy articles and the tea, lemonade, and crack- 
ers, had cleared the large sum of sixteen dollars and 
seventy-two cents. So the Red, White, and Blue 
Club was the proud possessor of four Thrift Certifi- 
cates, with eight cents in the treasury, and another 
card half filled with the stamps Mr. West had given 
them. 

‘T propose three cheers for the Red, White, and 
Blue,” said Uncle Sam. The cheers were given lustily. 

“How do you feel about going back to France, 
Marquis.^” Mrs. Lane asked. 

“George Washington, Uncle Sam, and I are all 
great pals now,” said the Marquis. “America is the 
land for me.” 


XI 


Domg One’s Bit 


I T was a week later, and the lilac by the Wests’ 
kitchen window had lost most of its blossoms, and 
there were blue jays, chickadees, sparrows, and robins 
for the feast that Catherine never failed to give them. 
Mrs. West went into the kitchen to give her orders 
for the day, and when she came out her face looked 
very troubled. 

“What’s the matter, mother.?” asked Evelyn. 
“Catherine has made up her mind to leave us and 
go to work in a munition factory, where her cousin is 
getting very high wages,” said Mrs. West. 

“She won’t be such a fool,” said Mr. West. 

“I’ve talked to her and talked to her, for the last 
half-hour,” said Mrs. West, “but all she says is that 
her brother is fighting for his country and she wants 
to do her bit. If she feels it is her duty, I have n’t any 
right to try to hold her back, have I.?” 

“Her duty!” cried Mr. West. “Her duty is to stay 
right here.” He strode out into the kitchen, slamming 
the door behind him, but when he came back, he, too, 
looked very sober. 

Then Jim went out and tried his hand at persua- 
sion. “You are not really going, are you, Catherine?” 
he asked. 


102 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


“Yes, I’ve promised to go.” The little boy felt as 
if his comfortable world were crumbling to pieces. 

“Who will save griddle cakes for me when I am 
late to breakfast.^” he asked mournfully. “I don’t 
see how we’ll have anything to eat.” 

“I’ll never forget you, that’s one sure thing,” said 
Catherine. “But would n’t you like to do something 
for your country, if you could. ^ I’m tired of the four 
walls of this old kitchen.” 

And then Evelyn ran out to see Catherine, and she 
flung her small arms around her. “Oh, Catherine, 
dearest, I can’t spare you; I can’t!” said Evelyn. 

Catherine hastily wiped her eyes, and at the sight 
of her tears, Jim fled. Evelyn was crying too. “It was 
bad enough to have Aunt Hilda go,” she said. “Why 
are you going, Catherine.^ Don’t you want to stay 
with me.^” 

“If it was only you; but there’s always a houseful 
of company. I’m very tired; and I’m just worried to 
death about my brother. He’s on the flring line now; 
he may get killed any time. It’s lonesome now every- 
body’s gone to the war. I just can’t stick it out any 
longer; and I’ll get big wages and do my bit at the 
same time.” 

“But, Catherine, how can you leave me?” 

“This war is just dreadful, breaking up families 
the way it does!” said Catherine, whose mind had 
gone back to her brother. 

But Evelyn was thinking of herself. She gave her 


DOING ONE’S BIT 


103 


yellow head a little shake. “Wars are bad things,” 
she said wisely. 

Three days after the coming of the new cook, Ann 
came to Mrs. West and told her that she would have 
to go to her sister for the summer and help her run 
the farm. Poor Mrs. West felt as if the bottom were 
dropping out of everything, for Ann had been with 
her ever since Jim was a baby. She was not so agree- 
able as Catherine, but she was a tower of strength. 

“I just can’t let you go, Ann,” said Mrs. West. 
“Your sister has got along without you other sum- 
mers.” 

“Her son has gone into the army, and she’ll have 
to get help about the crops. Her husband is ailing 
most of the time, and she has boarders coming the 
middle of June. One of her daughters has gone to 
France as a Red Cross nurse, and the other is in a 
munition factory. I suppose it is natural they should 
want to do their bit.” 

“ I am tired of hearing people talk about doing 
their bit,” said Mrs. West. “It was the plain duty of 
one of those girls to stay at home to help her mother. 
You will get worn out by the end of the summer. Of 
course, it won’t be so bad because you will be coming 
back in the autumn. But I don’t see what I’m going 
to do without you all summer.” 

“I would n’t have left you without anybody, but 
Norah is young and strong. And she says she can do 
all the work until you get another second maid.” 


104 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


So Ann went, and it seemed just like the falling of 
a house of cards such as the children built sometimes, 
for when one person went, another quickly followed. 
A few days after Ann’s departure, Norah came and 
said she must leave, as she had a chance to go to 
the seashore with a Boston family where a friend 
worked. As they would give her fifteen dollars a 
week she could not afford to lose the chance. 

Then came a few days when Mr. West got up early 
and made the kitchen fire, and Mrs. West came down 
later to make the toast and coffee and boil the eggs. 
The widow to whom Mr. Merrifield gave the coal 
came at nine o’clock in the morning, whenever she 
had a spare day, and stayed to put supper on the 
table; and Mrs. West and Lottie washed the dishes. 
But she could never come on Monday, Tuesday, or 
Friday, for she had permanent places for those days. 

It was an uncomfortable household, and Lottie 
began to long for school to be over so she could go 
home to the farm. True, they were without any one 
to help them there, but the work was planned so care- 
fully and every one did what she had to do so well 
that the house was in perfect order. Her grandmother 
and her Aunt Mattie were wonderful cooks, and Lot- 
tie herself had learned to cook a great many things, 
for she could go out into the kitchen there whenever 
she liked; and here none of the cooks seemed to like 
to have her come out. Indeed, Catherine had seemed 
quite put out when she had made the oatmeal wafers 


DOING ONE’S BIT 


105 


for the Sale. The house began to look uncared-for. 
Lottie felt that she was helping her Cousin Sadie a 
great deal, considering that she was going to school. 
And then, one day, when she was reading and no one 
knew she had come in, she heard her Cousin Sadie 
say to her Cousin James, in the next room: “Lottie 
seems to have the gift of stirring up all the maids. 
I am sure she does n’t mean to be inconsiderate, but 
they don’t any of them seem to like her.” 

“She’ll be going home pretty soon,” he said. 

Lottie’s cheeks burned and she slipped out noise- 
lessly so that they should never knov/ she had over- 
heard them, and she ran up to her own room. So 
this was the way they felt about her! And they had 
seemed so glad to get her back. Her mind was made 
up. She would not stay another night in a house 
where she was not wanted. Let them get their maids 
and keep them if they could. Let them find out after 
she left how much help she had been. She would go 
to the Lanes’ for the rest of the time that was left 
before vacation came. Miss Emily had asked her to 
come and live with them. 

Once more, she got her dress-suit-case, and then 
she paused. It had not seemed quite the right time 
when she had gone there for the other visit. Suppose 
it was not the right time now. She put her bag back 
into the closet and decided that when she went to 
amuse Sophia that afternoon, she would tell the 
whole story to Miss Emily and ask her advice. School 


106 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


would be over in less than a month. Perhaps it 
would be better to go home now. 

After her time with Sophia was over, she sat with 
Miss Emily, in the prim parlor that was so spotless 
and speckless it filled her order-loving soul with 
delight, and she poured out her whole story. As she 
looked into Miss Emily’s kind eyes she no longer 
thought her plain. She wished Miss Emily was her 
aunt. There was silence for a long minute, when 
Lottie finished her confession. 

“I am thinking things out,” said Miss Emily. It 
was so still that the clock on the mantelpiece seemed 
noisy. Lottie remembered how the ticking of the 
traveling clock had troubled her that other time. 

“You see, I don’t see any use staying where I am 
not wanted,” Lottie faltered. “I think they’ll get on 
better without me.” 

“Of course you can come here,” said Miss Emily. 
“We’ll gladly take you in, but that would be running 
away from a chance to do your bit.” 

“To do my bit.^” Lottie stammered. 

“To do your bit,” Miss Emily repeated. “Perhaps 
they would find it easier if you came here” — Lottie 
winced at this — “unless you do your best to help 
them out and make it as easy for them as you can. 
It is not probable that they can get capable maids at 
once. They are very scarce just now; and while they 
are without a maid, you can be of great use. You can 
get the breakfast every morning.” 


DOING ONE’S BIT 


107 


‘‘Get the breakfast!” cried Lottie in dismay. She 
was not fond of early rising. 

“Yes, get the breakfast,” Miss Emily repeated 
firmly. “You are a capable child; the trouble with 
you is that you are indolent. You know how to man- 
age a stove, don’t you.^” 

“Yes, I know all about stoves.” 

“Then there is no reason why you should not get 
up and get breakfast every morning. Your Cousin 
Sadie is n’t strong. If you got breakfast every morn- 
ing, and tidied up the house before you went to 
school, you would find that your cousins would be 
glad enough to have you with them.” 

“It seems a good deal to do when I’m going to 
school.” 

“Does it.^^” said Miss Emily dryly. “I know a child 
who is younger than you; her mother has died, and 
they are too poor to have a servant; she does all the 
cooking and takes care of four younger children, be- 
sides taking care of the house.” 

Lottie gave a sigh. “How terrible!” she said. 

“Yes, it is hard for a child who is only just thirteen, 
but she does n’t have any time to stop and worry as 
to whether she is appreciated or not. This world is 
not just a place for a good time,” said Miss Emily, 
“especially, in these days, when our men have gone 
across the water to fight so as to make other nations 
free, and our women are nursing soldiers. I’ve no 
doubt you ’d like to try your hand at it if you were old 


108 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


enough; most girls would. You are not old enough 
to do that, and you never will be old enough to do 
anything useful, unless you pitch right in now and 
do all the grubby, unexciting jobs you dislike most 
to do.” 

Lottie gave a long sigh. 

“Your cousins have been very good in taking you 
in for the winter,” said Miss Emily. “Now is your 
chance to pay back a little of what they have done 
for you. If you let it slip it may never come again. 
Most chances only come once.” 

There was another long pause when the clock on 
the mantelpiece became noisy again. At last Lottie 
put out her hand and seized Miss Emily’s. “I wish 
you were my aunt,” she said. 

“I’d like you for a niece. Perhaps you’d like to 
call me Aunt Emily as Emily does. There is one 
thing that helps make up for having only one niece 
of my own. One can choose one’s nieces for one’s 
self.” 

“I’ll go back to please you, and I’ll try to do my 
bit. Aunt Emily,” said Lottie. 

On her way home that afternoon, Lottie rehearsed 
a little scene in which she told the family she would 
get the breakfast every morning, and they were all 
so grateful and so warm in their praise that it was a 
pleasure to do the work. What really happened when 
she told them her plan was that her Cousin Sadie 
said, “Thank you, dear, but I think I had better get 


DOING ONE’S BIT 


109 


breakfast.” And Jim exclaimed, “Gee, mother, I 
guess you had. I don’t believe Lottie knows how to 
cook a thing.” 

“I made the oatmeal wafers,” she reminded him. 

“I guess that was easy,” said Jim. 

And then her Cousin James came to her rescue. 
“Lottie is right,” he said. “She oughtn’t to let you 
get breakfast, Sadie. Let her try getting breakfast 
to-morrow morning.” 

He made the fire for her that first morning, and 
the toast and eggs and coffee were all so good that 
even Jim had not one unflattering remark to make. 
As time went on she grew ambitious and varied the 
meal with bacon or com-cake. She had always liked 
cooking, for somewhat the same reason that she liked 
reading — because it was so interesting to see how 
things turned out. After a few mornings she begged 
to be allowed to make the fire herself. Her Cousin 
James agreed readily to this, for he was not keen on 
getting up early himself. Indeed, the one bright spot 
in this household trial was, that he said he would get 
a gas stove at once. Mrs. West and Catherine had 
longed for a gas stove for many summers. 

“Don’t you think we’d better get a fireless cooker, 
too, Sadie.^” he asked. “With a gas stove and a fire- 
less cooker, we can be quite independent of cooks.” 

And then it was that Lottie’s dream came true — 
her dream of being appreciated by the family; for it 
was Jim, of all people, Jim who had doubted her 


110 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


ability to cook, who said: “I don’t see what you want 
of a gas stove or a fireless cooker while Lottie ’s here. 
She’s better than a fireless cooker.” 

And although, in her heart of hearts, Lottie knew 
this praise was awarded her simply because she had 
made some doughnuts the night before, it was very 
sweet. 

“Lottie’s going home in a week,” his father re- 
minded him. 

“Oh, dear, what shall we have to eat then!” Jim 
cried. “Gee, I’d like to go to France!” 


XII 

The Farm 

T hings went very badly after Lottie left, so 
badly that Jim wrote a letter to his Aunt Hilda. 
He was not sure his father and mother would approve 
of his sending it, so he took it to the post-office him- 
self. It had some misspelled words, as he wrote it 
without help. 

‘^Dear Aunt HildaT he said, “I am sure it is your 
dooty to come home. Father says we are lots worse 
oiff than any orphans; for all the cooks in America 
have stopped cooking and are doing their bit to win 
the war. Lottie cooked fine doughnuts, but she has 
gone home now; and mother gets dinner, and she gets 
orful headaches, and its orful hot weather. I have 
to wipe dishes and I hate it. The hot weather makes 
Evelyn cross, and she has disputes with me. 

“Father thought we ort to take our dinners at the 
hotel. We went there the other day, and what do you 
think I fished two fiies out of my milk. ‘What do you 
think, mother,’ said I, ‘there are flies in my milk.’ 
Mother did n’t seem to hear, so I spoke louder, ‘flies 
mother, flies,’ I said. 

“‘I’ve found one, too,’ said Evelyn. 

“‘Hush, children,’ said mother. 


112 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


“ The food was quite cold before Evelyn and I got 
it, for we were the youngest. There were a lot of 
people to wait on, and just one girl to do it, and she 
forgot and mixed up father’s order, and brought him 
kusterd pie, which he hates. I had the kusterd pie, 
so it was not waisted. Mother said afterwards, if she 
lived to be a hundred years old, she should never 
forget the day, and she ’d rather get dinner for us the 
rest of her life than go threw it again. 

“Father gets breakfast now. I help him some, and 
mother gets dinner and these orful headaches. I re- 
member the good things you used to cook last sum- 
mer when Catherine had her vacation. Speshially the 
blueberry muffins, only there were not always enuff. 

“Dear Aunt Hilda, do come home. We all need 
you, and miss you, speshially your loving nephew. 
Jim.” 

Jim knew it would be a long time before he got an 
answer to his letter, and after he mailed it he thought 
very little about it; for a few days later there came 
such a wonderful letter from Lottie’s grandmother 
that both Jim and Evelyn jumped up and down with 
dehght; for the letter had an invitation to spend the 
next two months at the farm. 

“I never could have the face to stay two months 
with my two rampageous children,” said Mrs. West. 

“But we are not rampageous, mother,” said Jim. 
“Aunt Charlotte said she never had seen such good 


THE FARM 113 

children when we were there last year with Aunt 
Hilda.” 

Mrs. West sighed. “Your Aunt Hilda had a won- 
derful way of keeping you interested, and making 
you behave,” she said. “But if you were to go on as 
you did at the hotel the other day, I should simply die 
of mortification.” 

“But there were flies in the milk, mother,” Jim 
protested, “and you did n’t seem to hear, so I had to 
speak loud.” 

“Jim, you know I am not deaf, and when I don’t 
hear it is because I don’t want to hear. You made 
everybody in the room turn and look at us.” 

“Father was just as bad about the custard pie.” 

“He did not say so much.” 

“He made up an awful face.” Jim gave such a 
lifelike representation of it that Mrs. West could not 
help laughing. 

Mr. and Mrs. West talked the matter over that 
evening, and they decided that they would accept 
the delightful invitation, if only they might be al- 
lowed to be paying guests. It was Mr. West who 
wrote the letter. 

Dear Aunt Charlotte and Aunt Mattie, 

Your letter with its welcome invitation is like a 
mountain breeze to a traveler in the desert; for it was 
ninety-six on our shaded piazza yesterday. So we’ll 
all come, bag and baggage, even to the cat and dog 


114 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


as you suggest. And the fact that we have our own car 
now, and I can drive it, makes the journey easy. I 
can only take a week off now, but I’ll often come for 
Sundays. 

We’ll come, but on one condition, that you will 
let us contribute the amount of our own expenses. 
Now that eggs are seventy-five cents a dozen, and you 
could be getting that price for them, if we did not 
eat them, and broilers cost such a fortune we only 
have them as birthday treats, you surely must charge 
us a good round sum. 

Aff’ly your nephew, James. 

This was the answer to the letter, written by Mr. 
West’s Aunt Mattie: 

Dear James, 

This is a strange year, indeed, when everything 
is turned topsy-turvy; and one of the strange things 
is that those of us who have formerly been thought 
poor are rich now. Think how much better off we 
are than you, for, as we have not had any maid for 
several years, we are now perfectly independent. 
Also, we have all the fresh eggs and butter and veg- 
etables we want, and our lively little broilers are so 
numerous that a few will never be missed. And when 
we do sell our produce, we get such prices we feel like 
multimilHonaires. Don’t speak of paying anything. 
Are you not our own fiesh and blood And did you 
not keep Lottie for all these months? By the way, she 


THE FARM 


115 


has improved enormously; and is a great help about 
the cooking, although she is n’t as fond of house- 
work as I could wish. 

I am glad you are planning to bring Hector and 
Tim. Tell Hector he will have a hundred acres to run 
around in, and whisper in Tim’s ear, that in the au- 
tumn the hunting is exceptionally good. 

So do your bit by pocketing your pride and own- 
ing that there are some things in this world that 
can’t be paid for in money. And let us show you what 
a superior place a farm is to live on in these troubled 
times. 

Your affectionate Aunt Mattie. 

So one morning, soon after breakfast, the Wests 
started in their automobile on their long journey. 
And such a scramble as there was to leave the house 
in order! Mrs. Merrifield and Nancy came to help 
them to get off; and Mrs. Merrifield took the keys 
home, and she begged Mr. West to take his meals 
with them when he came home. 

Every one enjoyed the journey, with the excep- 
tion of Tim, who did not like the confinement of 
the cat basket. Jim sat in front with his father, proud 
and happy, and feeling important. And Mrs. West 
sat behind with Evelyn and Hector, who sat up be- 
tween them, like a person. But glad as they were 
to start, everybody was just as glad to have the jour- 
ney end. Tim was most glad of all, for he had never 


116 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


wanted to start. The hunting had been good enough 
where he was, and a bird in the paw is always worth 
two in the bush. Next to Tim, Mrs. West was the 
most glad, for she was not strong, and she was tired 
out with the long ride. Evelyn was so tired that she 
could hardly keep her eyes open. Mr. West was glad 
the journey was safely over, and Hector and Jim had 
had just enough of it. 

So when the friendly red farmhouse came in view, 
with its shaded piazza, everybody felt as if he had 
got home. 

Harry and Prue came dashing out to meet them, 
and Lottie followed, in her leisurely way. She had on 
a white dress and she looked prettier than ever, for 
the out-of-door life had brought such a color into her 
cheeks. 

Aunt Charlotte and Aunt Mattie stood on the 
front porch. But after greeting them. Aunt Mattie 
soon turned to watch a family of young sparrows 
who had their nest on the window-sill behind a blind. 
Mr. West put his hand on her shoulder. 

“There are no dull moments in the country, are 
there. Aunt Mattie.^” he said. 

“No, James, there is not one dull moment — never 
one.” 

And there was n’t one. Not for Mr. West, for he 
kept busy driving around the country exploring it, 
and feeling very useful, because he took his aunts 
to drive and gave them a chance to do the family 


THE FARM 


117 


errands; nor for Mrs. West, who helped with the 
housework and arranged the flowers, and after com- 
ing back from a drive had delightful, restful hours 
reading in the hammock. And least of all for the 
children, who were so busy with their work and play 
that they had been there two whole weeks before 
they found time to write a letter to their Aunt Hilda. 
Jim began the letter and Evelyn finished it. She 
dictated her part because it was so much less trouble, 
and her mother was at hand. 

Jim wrote: 

Dear Aunt Hilda, When I grow up I mean to 
live on a farm in the summer. I fll be a lawyer in the 
winter like father, but I ’ll be so rich I ’ll only have 
to practice law in the winter. Dear me, but I never 
worked so hard in my life ! Harry and I weed a lot 
and we pick vegetables and bring in wood for the 
open fires, and we helped the men when they came 
to make hay. And what do you think.? There are some 
farmerettes here, and they wear trousers, hke boys. 
They’ve made a swimming pool in the brook since 
you were here, by the big rock, you remember? And 
Aunt Mattie goes in bathing with us. For an old 
lady she ’s very spry — much more so than mother 
who is a lot younger. I’ve been fishing with father 
in Babson’s pond once, but I did n’t catch anything. 
Hector went along. He is having the time of his life, 
and so is Tim, 


118 


THE STKANGE YEAR 


Evelyn continued: 

Bear Aunt Hilda, Jim has gone off with Harry to 
see if they can find a woodchuck who is eating vege- 
tables in the garden. It is a fine one — I mean the 
garden — the woodchuck is just horrid. He eats all 
the young nice vegetables, but perhaps he thinks 
they are as free to him as to us. Anyway, I hope he 
won’t get caught, poor thing. We have peas, beans, 
and summer squash; and Prue and I shell them. We 
go swimming every day in the pool. It is small and 
no child could possibly get drowned. The garden here 
is lovely, and Prue and I help Lottie and mother 
pick the flowers and fix them. There are red rambler 
roses, and pink and white and red and yellow holly- 
hocks, but we don’t pick these; and sweet peas — 
they take a long time to pick, and nasturtiums; and 
there are such lots of yellow butterflies flying about; 
and there are chickens to be fed — lots and lots of 
them. We all went raspberrying the other day. Prue 
got a lot, and I got enough for one person, and I got 
terrible scratches on my hands. I wonder if they have 
raspberries in France? We wish you were here. I must 
stop now for it is time to go swimming, and I ’ll be too 
busy to write any more for a few days, or maybe 
weeks. 

Your loving niece, Evelyn. 

“Children, don’t be all day getting ready,” said 
Aunt Mattie. She was in her trim black mohair bath- 


THE FARM 119 

ing-dress, with a broad-brimmed straw hat on her 
head. “I’ll wait for you in the garden,” she said. 

Out in the garden Aunt Mattie found some weed- 
ing to be done. She was surprised to find how free she 
felt with no long skirt to get in her way. One of the 
young farmerette girls who was working on the next 
farm came by. 

“Good-morning, Miss Mattie,” she said. “So 
you’re in uniform, too.” 

“Oh, no. I’m just on my way to take a bath with 
the children,” she said apologetically. 

“I should think you’d always do the farm work in 
your bathing-suit.” 

“It is most comfortable,” said Aunt Mattie, “but 
it hardly seems proper for a woman of my age.” 

“Anything is proper now that is comfortable,” 
said the young girl. 

Evelyn thought the bathing the best part of the 
day. It was a hot summer and a hot walk across the 
meadow to the brook. But the brook was in a most 
delightful wood, with tall, dark pine trees, and just 
a few white birch trees, with their slender trunks 
gleaming in the sunlight, like ladies in white summer 
dresses. The pool, near the big rock, was partly in 
the sunlight, and partly in the shadow. And it was 
such fun to slide down cautiously into the brook with 
a big splash. To-day Evelyn jumped up and down in 
the water, and she filled a cup there, kept to drink 
out of, and poured the water all over Prue’s head; 


120 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


and Prue tried to get Evelyn’s head under water; and 
Aunt Mattie said, “Children, I shan’t let either of 
you go in bathing to-morrow if you don’t behave.” 
It was surprising how they quieted down at once, for 
Aunt Mattie always meant what she said. 

That night they had a picnic on top of the ridge of 
land behind the house. They all climbed up, even 
Aunt Charlotte and Mrs. West. It was a long, bright 
summer evening, on account of the extra hour of 
.daylight; for it did not get dark until nine o’clock. 
And there was a beautiful sunset, with little fleecy 
clouds heaped up against the pink glow; and Lottie 
sang for them; and so did a song sparrow; and the 
moon was up before the sun went down. Prue and 
Evelyn were greatly pleased at being allowed to sit 
up so late, for it was such a hot night it was more 
comfortable on the hilltop, but they got so sleepy 
before they went down they were thankful to go to 
bed. And after all, it was n’t really so very late. “It 
is really only nine o’clock,” said Prue, as the clock 
struck ten. 

August was just as delightful as July, and the cool 
September days were in some ways the best of all, 
for they could take such long walks. They still went 
in bathing every day, but sometimes the water was 
so cold they only took one icy plunge. The aunts 
easily persuaded them to stay until the flrst of Oc- 
tober, as Ann did not want to come back until then. 
Ann had decided to try the cooking and she was to 


THE FARM 


121 


bring a niece with her to do the housework, who was 
the daughter of one of her brothers. 

The middle of September a frost came, and the 
trees began to turn red or yellow. Then came warm 
days again, and it was so beautiful and there was 
so much to do, that Evelyn could not bear to go 
home. 

“But, darling, school will be beginning,’’ said her 
mother, “and you’ll want to get back to Nancy.” 

“I can wait to see Nancy, mother. I don’t want to 
leave Prue and Lottie; and truly, mother, I don’t 
care anything about school.” 

Evelyn decided she would pray every night that 
something would happen to prevent their going home 
before November. She was not sure her mother 
would think it a proper thing to pray about, for she 
had told her not to pray for a snowstorm last Thanks- 
giving; but the Lord must have known how much she 
wanted one, for a big snowstorm had come. So after 
she had finished praying aloud before her mother, she 
added a secret prayer, “Please, Lord, I want very 
much to stay here until November. Please fix it so 
I can.” 

It was the 27th of September, and Mr. West was 
to come on the 30th. It was evident that nothing 
was going to happen. And then, on the morning of 
the 28th, came a letter from Mr. West, saying that 
he was ill with influenza and must postpone coming 
for them. Indeed, if the aunts would keep them for 


m 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


another week or two, Dr. Wainwright thought it 
would be better; for the influenza had got such a hold 
in the town, in the last few days, they were going 
to close the schools. “You need not worry about me; 
I have a very mild case,” he wrote. 

But Mrs. West did worry, and when a letter came, 
the next day, saying the doctor had sent him to the 
hospital, where he would be well taken care of, she 
said she was going to take the first train home. 

“But what could you do if you were there The 
doctor could not let you see him and expose yourself 
to influenza,” said her Aunt Mattie. 

“I am going home to-morrow,” she said firmly. 
“Aunt Charlotte knows just how I feel. I could n’t 
be easy so far away from James. One never knows 
what may happen. It might turn into pneumonia.” 

“Well, if you insist on going — I suppose I should 
do the same in your place. I wish I could be spared 
to go with you,” said Aunt Mattie. “You must leave 
the children, of course.” 

“I’ll gladly do that.” 

“I’d like to go with you. Cousin Sadie,” said 
Lottie. “Can’t I go down with you.f^ I can cook the 
things Cousin James likes, and play and sing to him 
when he gets back from the hospital.” 

But here the aunts were firm. They did not want 
Lottie to be exposed to the infection. 

So Mrs. West started on her solitary journey in 
a drizzling rain, and Evelyn felt very forlorn with- 


THE FARM 123 

out her mother. Her prayer had been answered, but 
not at all in the way she wished. 

And when they heard the next day that her father 
was worse, she felt so worried she could not enjoy 
anything. And when a letter from her mother came 
saying they were afraid of pneumonia, the poor little 
girl felt she could not bear it. Her Aunt Charlotte 
found her in tears when she went up to put her to 
bed. 

“Don’t worry about your father, dear,” she said. 
“I don’t believe he is going to have pneumonia.” 

“But he may get it, and mother says with pneu- 
monia you never can tell what might happen,” said 
Evelyn. “I wish I’d never prayed we could stay here 
until November. I meant mother, too. I thought God 
would understand better.” 

“Dear child, the Lord does understand. We’ll pray 
now that He will make your father well and strong 
if it is His will. We’ll try not to worry; and to-mor- 
row I’ll let you come out into the garden and help 
pick the late string beans — the ones in the shel- 
tered place; and we’ll can them for next winter.” 

Evelyn brightened up, for dear Aunt Charlotte 
was such a lovely person, and her worn face had such 
a beautiful expression, that when she prayed that 
Evelyn’s father might get well if it were God’s will, 
the little girl had a comfortable feeling that all would 
be right. And all did come out right, in the end, al- 
though they had some anxious days first. And the 


124 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


best thing was that the doctor wanted Mr. West to go 
up to the farm for a ten days’ rest, just as soon as 
he was well enough to travel. 

So one bright October day Mr. and Mrs. West 
came up by automobile. 

Such a wonderful ten days as they had after that! 
They were all so glad that Mr. West was getting 
better that they were too happy for words. And when 
they started home on November 4th, Evelyn was so 
delighted to be going home with her father, that she 
did not mind leaving the farm. She wished Lottie 
and Prue were going back with them, but one can’t 
have everything in this world, and the aunts promised 
that Lottie and Prue and Harry should come to them 
for their Christmas vacation. 

So when Prue said, “Oh dear, Evelyn, what shall 
I do without you!” Evelyn said cheerfully, “You’ll 
have to do the best you can of it.” 

“Are n’t you going to miss me at all.^^” asked Prue. 

“Yes, I’ll miss you,” said Evelyn, “but I’ll be so 
glad to see Nancy.” 


XIII 

Celebrating Peace 

I S all the fighting really going to stop, father?” 

Jim asked in disappointed tones. It was Monday 
morning, the day the armistice was signed, and the 
bells and whistles were going at such a rate one could 
hardly hear one’s self talk. 

It was his mother who replied. “Yes, is n’t it too 
good to be true?” she said with shining eyes. 

“I don’t like it at all,” said Jim. “I wanted our 
army to give the Germans an awful licking, and then 
march on to Berlin.” 

Mr. West had something of the same feeling, but 
Evelyn and Mrs. West were only too happy to think 
that no more people were to be killed. 

“Now Aunt Hilda will be sure to come home,” said 
Evelyn. “You’ll be glad of that, Jim.” 

Jim was in a contrary mood. He never liked to 
show his feelings to order. 

“She’s been gone so long I’ve got used to not 
having her,” he said. 

“We’ve got to celebrate the armistice in some 
way,” Charley Norcross announced at school that 
morning; and, as usual, he had a plan. “What we’ll 
do,” Charley had suggested, “is to celebrate as the 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


m 

New York people did when the false peace news 
came. My aunt wrote that all the scrap-baskets in 
the city were emptied out of the high buildings, and 
it was like a snowstorm in the streets. So we’ll go to 
Jim’s house, because it ’s got such a dandy yard, and 
there are scrap-baskets in all the rooms.” 

“Let’s go to your house, Charley,” said Jim, “be- 
cause it ’s much higher.” 

“We’ve only one scrap-basket, and they are awful 
particular what you do in the yard of an apartment 
house; and it’s such a poor yard, anyway.” 

“Father is particular about our yard,” said Jim, 
“and the leaves have just been raked up.” 

“Your father is a true patriot,” said Charley sol- 
emnly. “He can’t be so mean as to mind our celebrat- 
ing the wind-up of the biggest war in history.” 

Put in this way, it did seem as if his father would 
be unreasonable to object. And, anyway, he could not 
be asked because he and Jim’s mother had gone off 
for the day and would not be back until night. This 
seemed fortunate, on the whole. So in the afternoon 
the three celebrators of peace met at Jim’s house. 
Evelyn and Nancy were on the side piazza playing 
with their dolls. 

“Look out, Jim, for the automobile,” said Evelyn, 
as he stumbled against a cricket turned upside down 
and holding four dolls snuggly fitted in. 

“You ought n’t to have your old automobile in the 
way of foot passengers. And they did n’t sound their 


CELEBRATING PEACE 


127 


horn/’ he said as he picked himself up and rubbed his 
leg. “I’ll make you pay big damages.” 

“How big.^” Evelyn asked with interest. 

“Oh, come on,” said Charley. 

“How big.f^” Evelyn persisted. 

But Jim and Charley had flung open the door, and 
were already inside the house. David, who had a 
heart for small girls, lingered. 

“I’ll be your lawyer,” he said, “and I’ll get you off 
as easy as I can. They did n’t blow their horn, but, 
still, Jim had no need to run into an automobile, for 
where should it be but on the road.?^ They don’t run 
in buildings. I don’t think you’ll have to pay more 
than seventeen dollars and seventy-nine cents.” 

“Thank you, so much,” said Evelyn. “I’ll give you 
all rny law jobs, ’cept the ones I give father. I ’ll give 
you all the small jobs.” 

“Thank you, madam,” David said, with a low 
bow, as he went into the house. 

They hunted through all the rooms for scrap- 
baskets, but they did not And much in them until 
they came to Mr. West’s study, and here they made 
a great haul; for they discovered two scrap-baskets 
crammed full of old letters, torn across. Mr. West 
had been reading over old letters while the family 
were at the farm, and he was saving them to kindle 
his fire with, as he did not like to put old family letters 
in the paper-barrel. 

“We’ll tear these into still smaller pieces,” said 


128 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


Charley, “and we’ll tear up some old newspapers, 
and then we’ll have a regular snowstorm.” 

They asked Evelyn and Nancy to help them tear 
up the papers. Evelyn was thrilled. It was almost as 
exciting as cutting up cloth for soldiers’ pillows. 
Nancy was a little troubled by the idea of the mess 
they would make in the tidy front yard, but Jim 
said it would be all right; and he asked her if she were 
not a loyal member of the Red, White, and Blue Club. 

“Of course I am,” said Nancy. 

“Then you’ve got to obey your superior officer,” 
said Jim. 

The children had a merry time tearing up the letters 
and some newspapers they found piled up in a closet. 
They took the papers out of the paper-barrel in the 
back yard; and when they had torn up everything 
they could find, each of them took a scrap-basket, 
full to the brim, and they went up into the third 
story. Here, in the spare room, there was a fine large 
window that overlooked the front yard. Charley 
suggested that they should each throw a handful in 
turn. 

“I’m going to begin because it’s my house,” said 
Jim. 

“It is n’t any more your house than it is mine,” 
said Evelyn. “Ladies always come first.” 

“You’re no lady,” said Jim. 

Charley settled the dispute by having the first 
throw himself. He took up a big handful of paper and 


CELEBRATING PEACE 


129 


made it into a ball and th^rew it with a mighty fling 
down into the yard. The ball broke into a shower of 
paper bits. The children were thrilled with excite- 
ment. 

“That was great,” said Jim. “It was ’most as good 
as fireworks. Oh! there comes Tim,” he added, as 
the tiger-cat came into view. He took a handful of 
the paper scraps and threw them at Tim, but they 
just missed him. 

A young robin hopping across the lawn was Eve- 
lyn’s mark, but she did not come anywhere near 
hitting him. 

“He goes too fast,” she said. 

Then David had a turn, and then Nancy, and the 
velvety green lawn was sprinkled over with scraps 
of paper. 

“It looks as if there had been a Sunday School 
picnic here and we’d forgotten to pick up the scraps,” 
said Charley. 

And then something very interesting happened — 
some callers turned in at the gate. They were two of 
Sophia’s aunts, in their flapping black veils — Miss 
Gertrude, the tall, thin one, and Miss Molly, her 
short, plump sister. 

“Let’s see if we can hit them,” said Charley. 

Each child took up a handful of paper, except 
Nancy. It seemed such a naughty thing to do that 
she hesitated until it was too late. Some of the 
scraps landed on Miss Gertrude’s unsuspecting head. 


130 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


She looked up vaguely, in her near-sighted way, and 
Miss Molly looked up quickly with her keen, bird- 
like glance. All the children had ducked down below 
the window-sill except Nancy, who was deeply inter- 
ested in watching the scene. 

“I can’t see any one,” said Miss Molly. ^‘Yes, I 
can. There is Nancy Merrifield at an upper window. 
Who would think she would be up to such mischief ” 

The Miss Lanes had their card-cases in their hands, 
and as Jim heard the doorbell ring, it dawned on him 
that some one would answer it. He hoped it would 
be Mary, Ann’s niece, but it might be Ann. 

“Quick, let’s empty all the paper before we get 
caught, and then we’ll hide,” said Jim. 

So they all threw the rest of the paper out of the 
scrap-baskets, and the lawn looked more as if there 
had been a picnic there than ever. Nancy flung out 
her paper with a wild, free fling. She had never felt 
so naughty in all her young life. 

It was Ann who went to the door, for Mary was 
out in the garden picking flowers to arrange on the 
supper table. Disaster was bound to come, but they 
would at least give Ann a good hunt; for there were 
plenty of closets to hide in. Jim climbed to an upper 
shelf in the spare-room closet and rolled himself up 
in a comforter. David hid in the tank closet, and 
Charley ran up the attic stairs, while Nancy and 
Evelyn took refuge in a large store closet, with a 
window in it. 


CELEBRATING PEACE 


131 


Presently, Ann’s step was heard on the stairs. 
“Children, come down this minute and pick up the 
mess you’ve made, before your father gets home,” 
she commanded. 

She found Nancy and Evelyn first, and then she 
found David; but she shrewdly guessed they were 
not the chief culprits. 

She hunted a long time for Jim. She opened the 
door of the closet where he was, but as he was rolled 
up in a comforter she did not see him. She was about 
to close the door, when she heard a giggle from the 
upper shelf. 

“You little rascal!” she said. “Get down, this min- 
ute. What possessed you to throw all that paper over 
the lawn.?*” 

“You don’t understand; we were celebrating peace, 
the way the people did in New York,” said Jim with 
dignity. 

“Much you care about peace!” 

“We do care about it a lot. You’re no patriot!” 
said Jim hotly. 

“Well, you patriotic people can go right down with 
your waste-paper baskets and pick up every single 
scrap of paper — every single one — do you hear.? 
Your father is going to have a dinner to-morrow night, 
and Judge Baxter is coming, and I can’t have the 
yard in such a mess. Come, hurry, your father and 
mother will be back any minute.” 

She never found Charley, for she did not know he 


132 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


was with the children. So, by and by, he stole down- 
stairs and joined the others who were busily filling 
the scrap-baskets in the front yard. 

“Come and help us, Charley,” said Jim. 

“I’m so sorry,” said Charley, with a grin and a 
wave of the hand as he disappeared through the 
gate, “but I have an important engagement with a 
friend.” 

It did not seem fair to the children that Charley, 
who was the ringleader, should be the only one to 
escape justice. Indeed, they were so indignant about 
it that they made up their minds to punish him them- 
selves. 

And so, the next morning, when Mr. West pro- 
posed taking a load of children to Boston to see the 
celebration and said that Evelyn and Jim could each 
ask a friend, Charley’s name was not mentioned. 

“I’ll ask David,” said Jim. 

“And I’ll ask Nancy,” said Evelyn. 

“Why can’t we take two more children?” said 
Mrs. West. “There will be plenty of room. Suppose 
we ask the rest of the Red, White, and Blue Club? 
How about inviting Sophia Lane and Charley 
Norcross?” 

“It would be great to ask Sophia because she is 
lame,” said Jim, “but I think it would be better to 
ask David’s sister Emily than to ask Charley. A boy 
can find some way to go in town, and Charley has 
lots of friends. Maybe he has an engagement with 


CELEBRATING PEACE 


133 


one of them. What are you laughing at, Evelyn.^^” 
Jim demanded. 

“You know what I am laughing at, Jim West,” said 
Evelyn. 

It was a merry party of children who rode into the 
city with Mr. and Mrs. West that morning. They 
each had a flag and a tin whistle, but they felt very 
calm and restrained when they saw the crowd. There 
were some extraordinary sights. There were people 
riding on a watering cart, beating tin pans with their 
fists, and others, with fire shovels, while inside the 
cart were tin pans that rattled as it rode along. 
Everybody had a flag, and many had whistles, and 
all seemed full of gayety and joy. One Italian was 
dancing along the street as he waved his flag. 

And then, in contrast to all this noise, was the 
quiet church, where they went to hear a solemn 
service of praise and thanksgiving. The light streamed 
in through colored windows, and the street noises 
drifted in muflBied by the thick walls. There was 
beautiful singing, and a short sermon about how we 
were all rejoicing together — French, English, and 
the other allies, as well as ourselves; and there was 
no thought of what one country could gain for itself, 
for we were all rejoicing in a world set free. And then 
the minister told how England had been guarding 
the sea for us with her great fleet. 

“You’ll never forget this day, I am sure, Jim/’ hi§ 
father said that night, 


134 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


“And neither shall I,” said Evelyn. 

“I’m sorry about just one thing,” said Jim. 
“What is that.?” asked his father. 

“I wish we’d taken in the fire shovel and the poker 
and some tin pans.” 


XIV 

The Blue Aunt comes Home 


I N September Jim had had an answer from his 
Aunt Hilda to the letter he wrote her in July, 
and she said she hoped to get home by the first of 
November; and this news had made them all glad. 
But it is easier to make plans than it is to carry them 
out. Something besides peace had been spreading 
over the whole world, making it one nation in its 
suffering, and this was the infiuenza. While Mr. 
West was ill with it in America, the children’s Aunt 
Hilda, “The Blue Aunt,” as they called her, was 
nursing infiuenza patients in France; for she had 
offered her services when there was a great need of 
nurses. First she put off coming home until Thanks- 
giving, and then she said she would surely be back 
by the middle of December. 

“I don’t believe she’ll get here for Christmas,” 
said Jim disconsolately. 

But the next letter said she would surely be with 
them a day or two before Christmas, for she had a 
touch of bronchitis, and the doctor said it was time 
she had a rest. 

“It has been a wonderful experience working over 
here,” she wrote, “ and the memory will go with me 


136 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


all my life, but you cannot imagine what it is to me 
to have a home to come to; for a home, in these 
troubled times, seems like a patch of light in the dark. 
I can see you all as plainly as if I were already with 
you, and I know how Evelyn will throw her arms 
around me, and how offish Jim will be, although he 
will be glad in his heart. I am sure Evelyn’s dolls will 
all be arranged in a row to greet me. I beg her pardon, 
her children, I mean. Hector and Tim will be of the 
party, and not the least important will be you, dear 
Sadie and James. It is good to go away, but it is 
better still to come home, and all who are so fortu- 
nate as to have a home should celebrate Christmas 
this year of peace by making home a place full of 
‘peace on earth and good-will to men.’ I hope, what- 
ever day I come, you will light the big bayberry 
candle, the one we put in the window on Thanksgiv- 
ing night. If I get back on the evening train how I 
shall like to see it shining in the window, a symbol of 
all the light and gladness and brightness there is in- 
side the house. I hope there will be snow on the 
ground, and a full moon, making the tree-trunks sil- 
ver; but I have not looked at the almanac. I suppose 
Christmas Eve there will be carols, and all the win- 
dows will be lighted by rows of candles, and perhaps 
you will have a Christmas tree.” 

“Let’s have a Christmas tree — let’s, mother,” 
Evelyn begged when the letter was read. “We did 
not have one last year, and ’cause Lottie and Prue 


THE BLUE AUNT COMES HOME 


137 


and Harry are coming we ought to do something 
’special. ” 

“A Christmas tree is a great deal of work for your 
mother,” said Mr. West. 

“We’ll do all the work, if you’ll let us have it,” 
said Jim. 

“I’ll help all I can,” said Mary, Ann’s young niece. 
She was only seventeen and felt hardly more than a 
child herself. 

“Of course we’ll have a Christmas tree,” said Mrs. 
West, “and we’ll invite Nancy and Sophia and Emily 
and David to come to it.” 

“That’s all of the Red, White, and Blue Club, 
mother, except Charley Norcross,” said Jim. “I’m 
afraid he’ll feel hurt if he’s left out.” 

“But you wanted to punish him,” Evelyn reminded 
Jim. 

“He’s been punished enough, and, besides, we’ve 
got to have ‘peace on earth and good-will to men,’” 
said Jim. 

But alas, when Christmas Eve came the Blue Aunt 
had not arrived. It had been a stormy crossing, and 
her boat was delayed. Lottie, Prue, and Harry had 
all come down from the farm, and the Christmas tree 
was ready, a marvel of glistening balls, and wreaths 
of make-believe snow, and candles all ready to light. 
And its green and symmetrical branches were hung 
with small gifts done up in colored tissue paper, while 
the larger presents were grouped around its base. 


138 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


“She will surely be here by Christmas evening; 
let’s put off the celebration until she gets here,” said 
Mr. West. 

At this a wail went up from the five children. 

“Emily is going to have a party Christmas night, 
and I am invited,” said Lottie. 

“Charley Norcross is going to have supper Christ- 
mas at his aunt’s,” said Jim. 

“I just can’t wait to see what that big bundle is 
that has my name on it,” said Evelyn, “the one that 
looks like a sled.” 

So they had the party on Christmas Eve; and, alas, 
a cold, drenching rain fell, and everybody arrived un- 
der umbrellas. The carol singers looked very forlorn 
as they went from house to house. And although the 
children dashed out to see the lighted windows in the 
neighbors’ houses, they were glad enough to get back 
to the warmth and cheer inside. 

Evelyn’s present was a sled; and oh, joy of joys! 
it was painted bright red, as she hoped it would be. 
It was just the color of her winter coat. 

“I don’t know how I could have stood it if it had 
been painted brown or black,” said Evelyn. 

You’d have had ‘to do the best you could of it,”’ 
Prue quoted. 

“I s’pose so, but it would have been a dreadful 
disappointment . ’ ’ 

Sophia’s eyes shone when she received a white 
sweater with sleeves, and a tiny red umbrella, for her 


THE BLUE AUNT COMES HOME 


139 


doll Ellen; and Nancy was made happy by getting 
a whole box of note-paper, with a colored picture on 
each sheet. 

“ I can write to our French orphan on this,’’ she said. 

Everybody had just what she wanted, and every- 
body had just what he wanted; for Mrs. West had 
planned the presents, and she could not have known 
better what to get if she had been a child herself. 
There was candy for everybody, of the simple Christ- 
mas kind one is allowed to eat, with just a few choco- 
lates in each bag. And all the children were sure they 
had never had such a happy Christmas Eve. The 
only thing that could have made it better was to have 
had the Blue Aunt there. But she would surely come 
before Christmas Day was over! 

Christmas morning, while it was still dark, the 
children had the joy of opening their well-filled 
stockings. 

While they were finishing their Christmas break- 
fast, which ended with griddle cakes, the telephone 
bell rang. As all telegrams were telephoned up, there 
was great excitement. 

‘T know it is from Aunt Hilda, saying her steamer 
has got in,” said Jim, as he ran to the telephone. 
“Oh, bother,” he said, as he came back, “it’s only 
Cousin Sue asking if Evelyn and Prue can go out with 
her and Sophia in her automobile this afternoon.” 

“Of course we can, can’t we, mother?” said Evelyn 
with delight. 


140 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


There was the sharp ring of the telephone again. 

“Let me go this time,” said Evelyn. 

But Harry and Jim were having a race for the 
telephone. Harry got there first. 

“It’s David, Jim; he says his father has to go into 
the country this afternoon to see a patient, and he’ll 
take us along with David if we hke.” 

“That will be great,” said Jim. 

The telephone bell rang again. “I’m going to it; 
it’s my turn,” Evelyn insisted, as she brushed past 
Harry and Jim. Alas! it was only a message for her 
father to say that Judge Baxter was in New York and 
would not get home until late that night. And this 
was the way the telephone behaved until church time. 
It had never been busier; but there was no word 
from Aunt Hilda. 

Evelyn always liked the Christmas service better 
than any in the whole year; for the carols were so 
joyous, and the church was so beautiful with its 
Christmas green. And when Mr. Merrifield said in 
his short sermon what a blessed Christmas it was, 
now that peace had come and our absent friends would 
soon return, the little girl felt so happy because dear 
Aunt Hilda was coming back, that she wanted to 
dance up and down; only, of course, she could not 
do anything of the kind because she was in a pew at 
church. All she could do was to look up at Mr. Merri- 
field with her brightest smile. 

After all, it was Ann who was the lucky person to 


THE BLUE AUNT COMES HOME 141 

get Aunt Hilda’s message; and when the family came 
home from church she told them that the long-looked- 
for telegram had been telephoned up. Ann had writ- 
ten down the message so that there should be no mis- 
take, and this was what it said: “Will come at seven 
or eleven to-night, unless I miss the last train. Then 
will spend the night with the Sargents.” 

Great was the excitement of the children. “Mother, 
dear, don’t forget to put the big candle in the win- 
dow,” said Evelyn. 

And all through their Christmas dinner of roast 
goose and plum pudding, the talk was of Aunt 
Hilda. 

“X do hope she’ll come before I go to the party, 
said liOttie. 

They put off supper until half -past seven, and M!r. 
West, Jim, and Harry went around to the station. 
When the returning wheels of the automobile were 
heard, Prue and Evelyn almost tumbled down the 
steps in their eagerness. 

“She didn’t come,” Harry and Jim called out. 

“She can’t get here until after eleven o’clock now. 
L<et’s have supper,” said Mr. West. 

So a subdued party sat down at the supper table. 
No one was very hungry because dinner had been 
late and very long. Lottie was the least hungry of 
all, for she was longing to be off to the party; and she 
could hardly wait for her Cousin James to finish his 
supper, and take her there. She looked so grand in 


m THE STRANGE YEAR 

her new white dress and pink sash that the other 
children were quite envious. 

“It’s time you children were going to bed,” Mr. 
West said, when supper was over, as he looked at 
Prue and Evelyn. 

“Oh, please, mother, dear, let us sit up,” Evelyn 
begged. 

“I don’t think I could let you sit up until after 
eleven.” 

“Be off to bed, children,” said Mr. West. “She’s 
not likely to come to-night.” 

“But if she does, please, mother, won’t you prom- 
ise to wake us up?” begged Evelyn. “It would be 
terrible to miss a thing like that.” 

Mrs. West promised. It did not seem so very long 
since she had been a little girl and had been heart- 
broken because her mother failed to wake her on 
a similar occasion. 

So Prue and Evelyn went off to bed cheerfully, for 
it was long after their bedtime, and they were very 
sleepy. Harry and Jim went off too; and as Lot- 
tie was at the party, only Mr. and Mrs. West, 
with Hector and Tim, were left to enjoy the bright 
wood fire in the parlor. 

Once more Mr. West went to the train, and this 
time it was Mrs. West who went down the front steps. 
She saw Mr. West helping a tall lady out of the auto- 
mobile. But what a disappointment! It was only 
Lottie whom he had brought home from the party. 


THE BLUE AUNT COMES HOME 


143 


“Lottie, dear, I never was sorry to see you before,” 
said Mrs. West. 

“I knew she could n’t get through to-night,” said 
Mr. West. 

But Mrs. West had an unreasonable feeling that 
she was coming. 

“If her New York train was late, and she missed 
our last train, she might come out by automobile,” 
she said. 

“She never would do that. Well, I’m going to turn 
in. We’ll see her to-morrow.” 

Hector and Tim were put in their quarters for the 
night, and the parlor was deserted, save for the lin- 
gering glow of the wood fire and the light of the Christ- 
mas candle in the window; for Mrs. West’s faith that 
Hilda would come made her leave it there. 

And she did come! Judge Baxter and his wife hap- 
pened to be on the same train she took from New 
York, and when they missed their connection he got 
a taxi and invited her to drive out with them. 

So this was what she saw as she came along the 
quiet street — a row of silent houses with the lights 
out, and just this one house that seemed to be alive, 
with the curtains up and the glowing embers on the 
hearth, and that one candle with its welcoming patch 
of light. 

Lottie flew down to answer the doorbell. Hector 
was already at the door, and the first to welcome 
the Blue Aunt. He jumped up on her with delight. 


144 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


Lottie and Aunt Hilda flung their arms around each 
other, and then held each other at arm’s length, for 
a long look. 

“How tall you have grown! You are almost as tall 
as I am,” said Aunt Hilda, as she looked at Lottie’s 
slim figure in her pink kimono, with her yellow hair 
falling about her shoulders. 

It seemed to Lottie that her aunt had never looked 
so sweet and so dear. Her blue eyes were sadder, 
however, as if they had seen sorrowful things. 

“You have grown thin,” said Lottie, as she no- 
ticed the lines in her Aunt Hilda’s pale face. 

Mrs. West was the next to come down, and then 
Mr. West, and such a talking as there was before the 
fire, while Lottie went off to the kitchen to make hot 
chocolate. 

“How are the children?” Hilda asked. 

“Very well. I promised to wake them up if you 
came.” 

Mrs. West took Hilda up to the room where Prue 
and Evelyn were sleeping. The two little girls were 
nestled close together, and Prue’s dark hair was 
pressed against Evelyn’s golden hair. They were sleep- 
ing so peacefully it seemed a shame to wake them up. 
But Mrs. West had promised, so she said, “ Children, 
she has come,” but still they did not wake up. So 
she shook each of them gently, and presently, two 
very sleepy little girls sat up in bed and rubbed 
their eyes. Then Evelyn flung her arms about Aunt 


THE BLUE AUNT COMES HOME 


145 


Hilda and gave her a hug. “She’s come, Prue! The 
Blue Aunt has come!” she cried. 

It was a little more than a year since their Aunt 
Hilda had said good-bye to them in this same room, 
and prayed that they might all be kept safe and 
brought together again. And now the prayer had been 
answered. The two little girls were very happy, but 
were too sleepy to talk and they dropped off to sleep 
again in the glad thought of to-morrow. Harry and 
Jim dressed quickly and ran downstairs so as not to 
miss any of the fun. 

Mr. West put another log on the fire, and they all 
drank the hot chocolate and ate the good things 
which Lottie brought in while they listened to the 
tale Aunt Hilda told of her adventures across the 
sea. Tim slipped in when Lottie left the kitchen door 
open. He stood for a moment uncertainly and then 
made a spring and settled down comfortably in 
Hilda’s lap. 

“He knows you!” the children cried. 

Aunt Hilda smoothed the folds of her blue serge 
gown and was afraid that the cat’s preference for her 
lap was because she was the only person in the room 
with a woolen dress on. 

Jim listened with deep interest to his aunt’s sad 
stories of the orphans in France, and as she talked, 
America and his own home seemed to grow more and 
more desirable. Now that she was back again, he was 
not so anxious to cross the sea. 


146 


THE STRANGE YEAR 


“Gee, I’m glad I’m not in France,” he said. 

“You children must run off to bed now,” said Mr. 
West. 

“We must all go up,” said Mrs. West. 

“I meant to get her^ sooner, but I have at least 
kept my promise and got to you before Christmas was 
over,” said the Blue Aunt as the clock struck twelve. 


THE END 



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